


When I was a Little Girl

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Girl!Frank - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Frank is a dyke. Period. She doesn't like boys. At all. But if you squint (or you're drunk enough) sometimes Gerard totally looks like a girl.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is the girl!Frank fic. Frank is and always has been a girl, My Chem is still very much just starting out, and for the purposes of this story Matt is Matt Cortez, My Chem's extremely devoted and long suffering guitar tech, and Otter is Matt Pelisser, the band's first drummer. Knowing that will make the story make a whole lot more sense.
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://two-way-street.livejournal.com/36760.html)

Frank climbs into Gerard’s lap without preamble, like she’s done this a thousand times before instead of only four or five. She sets her glass aside clumsily, as Gerard braces his hand on her ribs, too shocked to do anything other than keep her from falling. It's rum and Coke, and if Frank ever drinks any other kind of brown soda, nobody in the band’s ever found out. She snarls her hands in his hair, breath is sweet as she breathes against his mouth before kissing him. Gerard's taken back, because it's open and fierce, fearless, with none of her usual 'ew boycooties, please do not be touching the dyke' attitude.

It's enough to make Gerard wonder, even before she flicks her tongue into his mouth, make it pretty fucking obvious she wants his cooties. When she pulls away she smiles, biting her lip before she asks, with a soft, slurred lilt to her voice, "Hey, Gerard. Hey. Do you like me?"

Gerard blinks up at her for a long moment, his lips pressed together, before he picks up her drink. He takes a long sip of it, figuring that it'd be better for him to drink it than her, and tries to organize his thoughts. He might have finished his last beer like five minutes ago, but it wasn't his first, and he doesn't want to say anything that he'll regret later.

"Of course I like you, Frank. You're the best rhythm guitarist in Jersey. Why wouldn't I like you?" He takes another drink after that, hoping that maybe if he's drunker he won't notice the way she kisses him. How she feels with her thin little arms wrapped around his neck, the muscles clear under her pretty olive skin with just a few splashes of ink marring it. "Do you need help getting to the van?"

"No, you big giant stupid. I mean... do you like me?" She takes her drink back and finishes it off before sending it chattering against tabletop, and laces her fingers into his hair. "Mhm. I mean, if you wanna go to the van with me?" Frank shifts in his lap, closing the space between their faces until it's barely a breath, scented of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "You wanna put me in the back of the van, don't you. Hm, Gee? Right?"

She smiles, sweet and drunk-sleepy and so fucking pretty, lashes shading the gold-hazel of her eyes, and she brushes her mouth over Gerard's again. Gerard bites his lower lip, nervous, more than a little apprehensive that he's doing the wrong thing. He's going to get punched in the head, either when they get to the van or when she sobers up the next morning and realizes that she's in a band with a total asshole. But he can't stay sitting there forever, with her solid little legs sitting on either side of his hips, so he nods a little and finds a crooked smile for her. It makes him grimace a little for the still-present ache of where his teeth used to be.

"Need me to find Toro to get you there? I bet I could carry you, if you'd help. You're itty-bitty tiny." He knows that it's the wrong thing to say but says it anyway, curling his hands around the arms of the spindly little chair to keep them off her shirt. Frank shakes her head, slow-motion, eyes heavy and smile inviting.

"You could totally carry me away if you really wanted." She kisses at his lips again, slow and disjointed, and weasels around him on the chair until she's on his back, arms around his neck, pushing him forward. "Ray c'n carry me under his arm, but you're no Torosaurus. You're my Gee-Eff-Eff." She snickers against his hair, smelling him, smelling familiarity and comfort and safety, if not the need to shower. But it's Gerard's smell, and- and she likes it. "Take me to the van, young nubile slave!"

It's impossible not to laugh at that. He makes the chair buckle a little as he rests all of their combined weight on it to lever himself up. Once he’s standing he wobbles a little, the world spinning ever so slightly. He still manages to make it back to the van safely, Frank clinging like a limpet to his back.

"You know I'm almost, like, five years older than you, right? I'm neither- Neither young nor nubile. I'll get you one of the pillows from the front so you can, um. So you can lay down. Don't fall asleep on your back, curl up so you'll stay on, you know. On your side." The boxes of merch in the back are only a layer deep, so he can just open the doors and put Frank down, giving her a stern look. He wants so badly to touch her but he doesn't allow himself the opportunity, sticking his hands into the pocket of his hoodie instead.

"Mmh," Frank says, and it's barely a moment before she's got her arms around his neck again, pulling him down onto her. "Kiss me, you idiot. I wouldn't give a shit if you were thirty, I'd still wanna make out with you."

It's not that she's cheating on who she is, or what she believes, or even what she's attracted to, because- Because Gerard's so pretty. She's always thought so, and it's only when she's liquored to the point of incoherence that she can act on it. Like he's her favourite girlfriend, really. Gerard can only make himself resist for a moment before he braces his hand on the corner of the box above her head and leans in to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. They haven’t done this since she tumbled into his lap for the first time, over a month ago, back when he still couldn't even close his mouth all the way without being at least a little drunk first.

It takes all the restraint he has left to stay standing, his toes dug into the grass and his knees on the back bumper to support his weight instead of pushing up against her body. She's so small and lithe, so fucking off limits that it isn't even funny. But that doesn't change how much he wants her. He drags his tongue against hers, not even really minding the sticky taste of her mouth as he pulls back to look down at her, eyes the slightest bit dazed as he tries desperately to make sense of this, to not-think about the last time, behind the club, when he'd- When he'd been even drunker than he is now, and not stopped when he should have, and God, he still feels bad about that. Even if she'd said she wanted it.

"You should- You should sleep, Frank," he stumbles out. “You've gotta- You're probably way thinker than you're drunk- I mean. You're probably not thinking right. I don't- You'll feel better in the morning."

Frank laughs into Gerard's mouth, combing her fingers upward through his hair until they're tangled, until they're stuck. She smiles, saying, "I'm not tired, Gerard. Drunk, fuck yes. Totally. But I'm not tired, and you can't tell me to go to sleep." She licks into his mouth again, holding him firm against her for a moment before making the attempt to pull him back onto her, eight inches taller and somewhere approaching twice her weight. "C'mon, Gee. Don't you like it when I kiss you? Get in and shut the doors, the breeze is making my tits hard."

"Fuck, Frank. You can't say shit like that." Gerard sounds a little startled, almost pained, as he pushes her up the boxes so he can crawl in after her, pulling the back door closed with a too-loud bang that makes him grimace. Once they're closed in, just the light from the big light post at the corner of the yard providing illumination, he reaches out to her. His hand skids almost shyly against her side, the too-long of her t-shirt, that she bought in a kid's department somewhere in Pennsylvania. He knows it because he helped her cut the 'Boy's 6-8' tags out of them himself in a parking lot in Ohio, listening to her bitch about how long they'd been rubbing her neck raw. Once it's rucked up he can see - but not touch, oh no - the skin of her side he licks his lips and gives her a big, puppy-eyed look of hurt.

"You can't expect me to- It's not fair, when I want." When I want you so goddamn bad. Gerard doesn't say it, tries not to even think it, as he takes a deep breath and tries again, his voice soft, somewhere between pleading and a whine. "When I don't even know what you want from me. It's not fair."

"I just wanna make out with you." Frank nips another kiss from Gerard's mouth, grinning her little squinchy grin at his big eyes and tilted eyebrows. "That's what I want. Now what do you want from me, huh? Wanna touch me?" Her smile turns wicked, loose and drunk and daring, and she adds, soft and husky-voiced, "You wanna go down on me? Do you want to put your fingers in me? Is that what you want?"

She ducks her head to kiss the side of Gerard's neck, fingers still firm and tangled in his hair, moving him here and there so she can lick the taste of his sweat from his skin. The little sound that Gerard makes under the brush of her words and the drag of her tongue is helpless and almost-scared, his hand shaking a little as he slides it up to cup her breast, thumbing firmly against where her nipple makes the thin fabric of her shirt stand away from her skin. He wants it, he wants it so bad, bad enough that it's all he thinks about when his hand's down his pants, trying to keep it quiet enough that the other guys can ignore it. He ducks his head and kisses her again, hard and open, while she gasps the slightest bit for the sting of his fingers.

"I'd do anything you'd fuckin' let me, Frank,” he admits against the part of her lips, breathless and low. “God, I'd do anything you wanted me to." Frank purrs, arching up like all of her joints are unhinged, moving Gerard's hand aside to pull her shirt up for him.

"Better?” she asks. “I mean, they're boobs, right? You wanna touch 'em, don'cha. Mmh." She kisses the sharp little breaths from Gerard's mouth, and whispers, "You listen to me, don't you. An' you like it. Right? You think I'm sexy?" She pushes up against Gerard, her arched back all but making her breasts disappear as she presses her hips to his thigh. "'r so fucking pretty, Gee. Just. Don't stop touching me, 'kay?"

It's all Gerard can do to keep himself from whimpering as he moves his thigh up against her, half-hunched over so their eyes are almost even. He's not too worried about her figuring out exactly how much he wants her, with his sweatshirt puddled in his lap and his hands between them to keep her from moving too much closer, and that's what gives him the courage to keep going. He palms against her ribs with a nervous little sound, afraid that he'll hurt her, even though he knows exactly how she is, how fearlessly she throws herself around stage and into people's arms. She's fearless even now, doing something that rationally she shouldn't want, shouldn't ask for. He just can't forget how small she is, when she's held in his hands like this.

It makes something in his gut turn over as he licks his lips, pressing his slightly stubble-scratchy jaw against her neck as he inhales, the sweet-subtle smell of her skin enough to make his mouth water. "I think you're so fuckin' sexy, Frank. I just- I just. I want you so fuckin' much that I don't know what to do."

"Touch me," Frank whispers, turning her nose against his hair. "Put your fingers in me. Lick me. I want it all."

Her skin is soft under his hands, rough from too many days helping pack up and tear down, washing in rest stop bathrooms and tangling in microphone cords. Her hand over his is so much smaller than his own, calloused at the fingertips and certain spots on her palm as she slides Gerard's fingers up so he's cupping the barely-there curve of her breast. She likes that his hands are rough. He works hard. She likes that he's said it out loud, that he wants her, that he thinks she's sexy, and she says it again, low and blurry and unsteady. "Lick me, Gerard."

"Fuck, I'm gonna, I'm gonna." He touches her breast gently, almost reverently, curling his other hand under her thigh so he can lift her up to meet him halfway. His lips are chapped and his mouth warm as he kisses at her skin, up the delicate curve of her breast before licking around the dark brown-pink of her areola and taking her nipple into his mouth. He sucks at it gently as he laves his tongue against it.

Gerard grimaces for how it makes him feel, how much he wants everything with her, not just the things she's said are okay. That probably makes him a horrible person, so he shoves the thought away as he lifts her up farther and lays her back against the pillows shoved against the back of the back seat. His mouth pulls away from her skin with a soft sound of breaking suction as he kisses down her ribs, thumbing up the welt of her jeans to press his palm firm up against her, his other hand coming down to fumble at her fly. "I just gotta- Uh."

"Jus' pull 'em down," Frank grins, mussing his hair through her fingers. "You know me, can't keep my pants on." The further Frank leans back into the pillows, the more indistinct her voice gets, but her hands still guide his kisses against her skin. She hums low in the back of her throat, head tipped back and body so-warm against him. "Don't even have to undo them, Gee. Just."

She laughs, shirt hiked up around her armpits, short hair sticking up, so drunk, and Gerard wants her. Her. And she's not stopping him. Hey, wasn't it Frank that climbed on Gerard's lap in the first place, asking him to take her to the van?

Gerard sits up a little, frowning down at Frank’s middle. Her pants seem far more complicated than he expects them to be, all backwards, before realization dawns. He undoes her belt so he can simply pull her too-big jeans down her hips and then off her legs entirely, leaving them in a pile. He looks back up at her, his eyes hot and his breath coming slow and deep as he palms up her thigh and slips his thumb under the fabric of her underwear to press against the slick of her, licking his lips as he ducks his head to suck a gentle kiss against the barely-there fuzz below her navel.

"I want you so fuckin' bad," he mumbles against her skin as he rubs the pad of his thumb in a slow, careful circle against her clit.

She groans openly into the stale van air, lifting her hips into his touch. "Yeah," Frank breathes, adjusting her hands again so her fingertips rub at his scalp. "It's okay, it's totally fuckin' okay."

He takes a deep breath, then another, planting a gentle kiss just above the band of her underwear where it cuts across the flat plane of her stomach. Even her panties are tiny, Strawberry Shortcake, bought at a Walmart on one of their stops, in the girls' section: tiny and pink and oddly girly in comparison to her jeans, her ratty Transformers tshirt, her tattoos and short hair. He withdraws his hand and carefully eases her short, muscular legs free of her undies, kissing self-consciously at the backs of her knees and the delicate swells of her calves, the hollows behind her ankles, all too aware that he'll probably never get the opportunity to do it again.

It's what makes him hold her carefully, one hand behind her knee and one gentled against the join of her hip and thigh. He kisses up the inside of her leg slowly, her skin hot where his breath warms it and cool where his mouth has left damp marks on her skin. He swallows when he gets to the point where he has to move his hand, looking up the line of her body almost nervously, not quite sure what he expects to see. He asks, voice thick and breathy, "You're sure, right Frank? Really, absolutely sure?"

Frank doesn't answer, not with words, really. But she hooks her fingers hard into Gerard's hair and shoves his face against her, half hoping he's ready, and half not caring in the slightest if he's not. In the dim light of the van, she can't think, can't follow the progress of her thoughts through to their proper endings, unless they're the endings that lead to Gerard getting her off. Gerard going down on her, isn't that ridiculous? She's asking for it, letting him, making slurred, encouraging noises, and he's actually doing it, groaning brokenly as she shoves his mouth to her body. His eyes are all but closed as he pushes his fingers up against her clit, trying to reassess what he only felt fleetingly, that time in the back hall of the club in Buffalo, and even more briefly just a moment ago.

Gerard takes a long, slow breath as he touches her, open-mouthed and still more than a little overwhelmed by the reality of the situation. Finally he exhales softly as he licks up her, his tongue flat and wet. He curls his wrist palm-up and slides two fingers into her without much preamble, hoping like fuck that he isn't about to get kicked in the head.

"Uuudh?" Is it good? Please God, let this not be a mistake. Please don't realize that this is a mistake. God. His attempt at a question is as unformed as his thoughts are sharp, racing through his head at fever-pitch.

She's totally fucking drunk enough that she can't think about the fact that Gerard has a dick, that he's a boy. Instead she twists up under him, hands tugging at his hair, trying to pull him as close to her as he can be, her little biceps pressing her not-quite-flat breasts together. If her sounds are shaped like his name, then that's a secret that Gerard'll have to keep to himself. But that alone is more than enough of an answer to his blurry question.

Duly reassured, he curls his fingers forward a little and lets them slip free of her body, pushing into her again as he curls the tip of his tongue against her, trying and mostly-matching his tempos despite the dangerous, dizzy-drunk feeling that makes his head spin and his senses fuzzy. He has to work at remembering to breathe, but he manages, in short, sharp gasps as he grinds his hips into the unforgiving cardboard of the boxes below them, too turned on to register the pain as anything more than pressure. "Nnnh."

Frank can only take so much, with Gerard pressing her legs back with his shoulders. The way his tongue feels, making her gasp out, high and sharp, "God, Gerard. Your mouth," as she twists against him. Then there's his fingers, fuck, and her voice is rough as she hisses, her hand tense in his hair, "Harder, harder. Mmh. Nnh-" before her orgasm rocks through her, sending her shaking against where his lips are pressed to her.

Frank's head falls back, edging against the steady pressure of Gerard's hand. He keeps pushing into her in ways she didn't even think he knew how, gentling her through the aftershocks of her first orgasm before he intensifies the pressure of his tongue, sliding a third finger into her with a soft groan of his own. It's easy to build her back up, now that he's done it once, and she comes again, barely two minutes later, her voice again high and sharp as she quakes against him. "Fuck, fuck. Fuck Gerard, yeah. Yeah-"

Number three is already building when it happens, her guts lurching alarmingly as he groans against her, his focus too narrow to notice until she whacks the side of his head to get his attention. It's not because of the way he's touching her, not because he's all but driving her out of her fucking skin, but that doesn't make it any less important that he stop right the fuck now.

"-van's spinnin'," Frank mutters, struggling to get up and cover her mouth as Gerard sits up, his eyes dazed and his mouth and chin wet. "'m gonna-"

Gerard’s been through four years of art school and another few of getting dragged to house parties with Mikey and Mikey's friends, not to mention the last few months on the road that have been a social awakening unto themselves. If there's anything he knows better than the feeling of vomit impending, it's the appearance of vomit impending, and it's writ large in Frank's posture, the frantic look on her face. He finishes sitting up as quickly as he can, ignoring the way his own head spins in retaliation, and shoves the back door of the van open, twisting in place to get out of the way.

"Hn!" Frank's back flexes as she throws herself forward, half out of the van, sicking up the rum-flavoured contents of her stomach onto the grass below. Gerard rubs her back helplessly, one hand over his own mouth like he's worried that he's done something wrong, or like he fears he might follow, for all he barely even gags. By the time she's done she's sweaty, days worth of eyeliner and mascara running down her face, and hunched down on her elbows and knees, shivering.

"You, uh. You gonna be okay, Frank? I mean- I didn't do anything, right? Just- Just too much beer...?" He’s not really expecting an answer but he’s hoping for one anyway, since he's not sure how he feels about inducing spontaneous vomiting via oral sex.

"Fuck," Frank whispers. Gerard helps her retreat back into the van, pulling the door shut behind her, and offers her a weak smile as he presses the cool backs of his fingers to her forehead. "No, stupid,” she finally answers once she’s caught her breath.

“It- ugh. I drank too much, and when you make me come my stupid fuckin' brains out, my stomach went UGH and exploded out like the fuckin' thing from Aliens." She falls back onto the pillows, eyes closed, and fists her short hair back from her face. "Gee, I- Thanks, babe."

"I haven't seen a show like that since Fourth of July, Frank." Gerard struggles to find a smile for her, wiping the makeup off her cheeks with the hem of her shirt, half-holding her against his chest as he lays across the boxes next to her.

"How about maybe next time you leave the heavy drinking to me and just stick to, like. Beer or coolers or something. I don't even wanna know what the shit all you've been drinking." He keeps talking as he turns her carefully onto her side, thinking somewhat desperately about her clothes and how there's no possible way that she can get into them right now. Finally he pushes her hands gently out of her hair and shushes her quietly, petting a hand against her cheek and carefully down her neck to soothe her shaking. "I think we've still got some bottled water in the cooler, so I'll definitely save some for you, for tomorrow."

Frank groans, mostly passed out, and touches his face clumsily as she asks, "Come back later, right?"

But before Gerard can answer she's out, her body limp and her face turned against his hoodie. He just holds her for a while, listening to the slow, heavy sound of her breathing, before pushing her back carefully against the pillows so he can weasel out from under her.

It's something of a struggle for Gerard to get her limp body back into her clothes, and he has to fish a new pair of underwear out of her duffle when he can't find her old ones. He tugs her shirt down, putting her jeans back on one leg at a time and carefully re-tightens her belt so she can't wriggle out of them if she ever becomes less comatose. He figures she's probably done puking but he still curls her back up on her side anyway, one pillow tucked under her head, another under her waist, and a cover tucked around her thin frame. He knows she gets cold easy, but it's still muggy outside so he figures she'll be fine. Once he's done fussing he takes one last look at her, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, and climbs somewhat awkwardly over the bench seat to leave out of the side door, closing it carefully after himself.

Once he's certain that she's not going to wake up, peering through the glass like some kind of creep, he wanders off to find something to drink. He figures that if he can find a private place and enough booze that maybe he'll be able to forget what just happened. Or at least, he'll stop caring that he can't stop thinking about her. If only for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're a fucking idiot." Mikey's voice comes out of the dark, under the slow-motion strobe of passing highway lights, low enough that Gerard’s are the only ears that hear him. "What're you doing, getting involved with her? Like, I don't know if anyone else has figured it out yet? But It's kind of fucking obvious you're fucking." He pauses, shuffling over in the shorter seat, until he's secure up against the warm bulk of his brother. "You are fucking, right? 'Cause I know you're doing something with her."

One of Gerard's eyebrows raises as he cranes his head around, his eyes barely slit open so he can catch Mikey’s expression. Sleep and disbelief color his voice thickly as he mumbles, swallowing midway through to try and at least sound like he's trying to be reasonable.

"I- What? Are you talking about the same Frank Iero that I am?" He's kind of taken aback that Mikey would think that of Frank, would think it of him, when he's done his best to respect Frank utterly since they first met, as some shitty house party on the Shore. "Seriously?"

"Do you ever look in a mirror? Or, like. Know that you make stupid cow-eyes at her whenever she smiles at you?" Mikey sighs, rubbing an eye before checking his pocket to make sure his glasses are safe. "Yeah, Frank Iero. Aka Francesca The Raging Dyke Guitarist. I've seen you guys make out. And hey, I'm a guy. I look at her tits. And she gets all weird and pointy when you're around. In case you didn't notice," he says, trying not to sound frustrated. "It's all trouble, Gee. If you guys, you know. People are gonna say stuff."

Mikey pushes himself into more of Gerard's space in an effort to not be all elbows and knees packed into the back of a van and Gerard grimaces, twisting around to make room for his brother to settle. Once he's got his arms around Mikey's middle, their feet stretched off towards the door and Mikey's head on his shoulder he mumbles, barely loud enough for even him to hear over the hum of the road.

"We're not-" The van is quiet as Gerard breaks off, just the sounds of three sleeping bodies and Ray humming along with the radio interrupting the road noise. Finally Gerard takes a breath and tries again. "It's not... Like that. I mean. I just. I'm definitely not gonna, like. Do anything that she doesn't want. I mean. I'd never. And you shouldn't call her that. If she hears she'll punch you in the head. Again."

"Dude, I know. I just wanted to clarify we were talking about the same person. And I know you wouldn't do anything she didn't want you to, otherwise you'd be sporting real black eyes instead of the shit you cake on." Mikey makes a frustrated noise, shaking his head the slighted bit before he settles it back against Gerard's shoulder. "What do you get out of it, if you aren't fucking? Because - okay, I'm totally getting gross here, because ew, you're my brother - it's not like she's going down on you or anything. Not like you are. I just- I don't want her to use you." He stares off into the blurry dark, worried, worried that Gerard'll end up doing something stupid. Following his heart instead of his dick. "Are you in love with her?"

Gerard lets his eyes fall closed again as he murmurs, sounding pretty placid and bland no matter how torn up about it he feels inside. "Dunno. I mean. I dunno how I'd know, if I were. 's not like I've gotta mood ring or whatever."

He shrugs, his shoulder shifting under Mikey's body. He doesn't know how to explain what he and Frank did - are doing, it seems like, with the way she leans on him, talks to him, and kisses when she's drunk enough not to care if anybody sees. He tries anyway, humming low in his throat as he pushes his hand against Mikey's stomach, thoughtful and relaxed under his slight weight. "And I just- I dunno. I like- I like making her happy. Making her feel good, getting her off, whatever. And she doesn't even like guys so, like. I dunno. I just feel like maybe I'm lucky, or something. Like I shouldn't look at it too hard."

"You act like you are. And I'm just- I worry about you. Because it's not something either of you should be doing. I don't want her to hurt you." Sleep is contagious. Mikey talks with his eyes closed, and gradually his words get slow, catching the same tempo as Frank's breathing, as Otter's snores.

He likes the way Gerard sounds, how his touches speak of comfort, and can maybe understand from that side of it, how Frank wants to be around him. He's safe. But maybe she doesn't realize there's more on the line than the occasional, ever-more-frequent opportunity for Gerard to get her off in the back of the van, behind the shitty little clubs they play in, at the house parties they crash when they've got a chance. "Bro, I just want you to be careful."

"Mmm." Gerard's still drunk enough from the pre-show festivities that he's not immune to the sleep-field that the van seems to be generating, and hopes vaguely that Ray's still plenty sober to drive. "This would be a shitty way to die," he mumbles, apropos nothing but his wandering thoughts. He curls his arm tighter around Mikey's ribs, kissing his temple vaguely, in no mood to argue more, or to do anything more taxing than fall asleep breathing against Mikey's ear. "But at least I'd still be with you."

-

Ray makes a midnight pee-stop, where he doesn't get left behind, if only because it's pretty much impossible to leave behind the only person driving. Mikey stumbles all the way to the back when he gets back into the van, clutching a bag of Sourpatch Kids in one hand. It took about two months to get to know Frank well, but now Mikey knows more about vegan candy than he pretty much ever needed to. Right now he's not pulling any punches when it comes to trying to get on her good side. "Hey, Frank. We've gotta talk."

Frank shuffles over, taking her blanket with her and offers the space to Mikey. "What's up, homeskillet?" She'd woken up when the van stopped, going out to have a pee herself and kicking Matt out of the way when she'd climbed back in. "Come into my bedroom, make yourself comfortable. Talk to me, kimosabe."

Mikey doesn't waste any time with being polite, just passes over his offering of candy and waits until she's got the first few shoved in her mouth and hopefully gumming up her ability to speak before he brings up what's bothering him, as bluntly as he can. "What the fuck do you think you're doing with my brother?"

Frank freezes, pinning Mikey with a wide-eyed look as she eases her fingers out of her mouth, the dusting of sour-sugar just barely visible in the dim light. Mikey doesn't seem to notice, barreling on with his chosen topic of conversation like he's afraid he won't get a chance to finish if he doesn't do it while her guard is down. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he's both one, a dude, and two, in your band. The lead singer, in your band. Does nothing about that seem odd, to you?"

It takes Frank a good minute or two to at least chew the gummies that are in her mouth before she can swallow and reply, giving him the patented Frank Iero Hairy Eyeball. "What do you mean, what do I think I'm doing? Gee's my friend. I didn't realize there were limits on that. It's not like he's my boyfriend or anything. Because, uh. No. He's the singer in our band, and just-" She stops. Just. Stops. Because maybe she's thinking about what she's been doing, all full of liquid courage and wanting something from Gerard that she doesn't want to put a name on, or admit. "It's just. It's nothing, Mikey. Seriously."

"Friends don't let friends sit on their brother's face.” Mikey glowers at her, irritable but mostly just worried that she's not realizing how serious things are, just like Gerard. God save him from them both. “So seriously, cut it out. Because seriously I found a pair of your underwear under a box a few days ago, packing out for the show, and there is no way you lost them yourself. I know how jealously you horde those things. Not that I blame you, with Matt in the van, but still."

"You did not." But Frank blushes brilliantly, tossing more candy into her mouth. "It's probably from when I was changing after a show or something. And what, did you keep them?" Classic Frank, going on the defensive when she knows something's up.

Mikey doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows and pushes his glasses up his nose, and she says quietly, trying not to sound guilty, "Gerard and I do what we do and it's fine, okay? It's not like we want anything else from each other that- That we aren't already getting.”

But she can't help but remember how how he sounded when he breathed up against her skin, telling her how sexy she was, how much he wanted her, and it makes her fall silent, her mouth twisting into an unhappy line before she shoves the last of the candy into her mouth. Mikey sees her shake her head in the dark and he just lets her bluster, listening to her eat. Waiting her out. Once she's licked out the sour sugar from the bottom of the bag he says quietly, "I stuck them back in your bag, duh. What the fuck do I need your panties for, anyway?”

Frank's grateful for the change of subject but she tries not to let it show, grinning crookedly as she shoves his arm gently. "I don't know. You're a guy, I don't know what you'd wanna do with my undies."

Mikey keeps his voice down as he replies, trying to respect her privacy, even though everyone else is snoring and drooling on themselves or so far in the front driving that they might as well be a world away. “Just keep in mind that, like. He's really a person too, you know?." He leans against her, ruffling her hair with a gentle rub of his palm, and tries not to sound too accusing when he continues. "Like, with needs and emotions, and he's not going to say anything he thinks might piss you off, when he doesn't think that you're really into him."

She sounds sulky, angry, and she turns away from him, curling up in the dark with the blanket over her. "I know he's a person. He's my best friend. I don't know why he wants to do stuff like that with me, but I'm not gonna say no." Not when she's the one asking for it, with rum in her blood and on her breath, telling Gerard that he makes her nipples hard, or how much she wants him to make her come, or that he's really fucking beautiful. That's just when she's drunk, and when he's drunk, too. It doesn't mean anything.

Finally she pulls the blanket down again to glare at him, her brows pinched together. She asks, her voice irritable, if still low enough to keep everyone else sleeping, "What should I do, oh-wise-younger-brother? If you think I'm going to hurt him, or something?"

He knows exactly what he wants to say it, and he does, even knowing that it probably means that he's going to get punched. "So fuck him or get over yourself."

Frank's fist lashes out even before she's aware she's doing it, hitting Mikey's ear, but he just covers it with his hand, leaning out of the way of any of the limbs she might want to flail at him. He doesn't stop talking, his voice low and serious, without any of his usual subtle humor. "It's fucking unfair to him to lead him on like you do. He could, you know, at least theoretically be getting laid somewhere else. Or at least, he wouldn't be jerking off in bathrooms and looking like a lost puppy so much. And if someone outside the band knew that, like. You were stringing him on like this? That would be pretty shitty for us. And definitely not look awesome for you."

She kicks him away from her, her face pulled into an ugly sneer as she spits the words at him, hurt and embarrassed. "I'm not leading him on, and he could totally be getting laid somewhere else. I'm not stopping him, Mikey. Fuck you for even saying I'd do something like that." Besides, she doesn't think that Gerard jerks off because of her. That's just... that's what guys do.

"Fuck you. Seriously. You know he's got it totally bad for you, don't you? Watch him some time." He scoots away from her enough that he has room to get his legs under his body, one hand still covering his ear, and glances over at her once he's managed to find room enough to kneel. He smirks as he twists, one hand on the top of the back seat, and looks down at her, reaching over to ruffle her hair again. "Think about that," he says as he steps over the seat, too fast for her to have a chance to retaliate past squawking quietly and smacking at his hand.

It's tempting to spit some pithy comeback at him, but Frank can't think of one. By the time that she's calm enough that she could possibly be able to discuss it with him rationally he's already passed out, comfortable in Gerard's slightly drool-y embrace.

\--

It's easy to pretend that what Mikey said doesn't matter when she's onstage, when she's upside-down and inside-out, sheened in sweat until her shirt sticks to her skin. When she’s screaming in Gerard's microphone when he comes her way, playing with her back snug against his. They're Frank, they're Gerard, they're My Chemical Fucking Romance, and it doesn't even matter when some tiny girl with dark hair and dark eyes and too much black eyeliner on pets at Gerard as they stagger offstage, leaning into his wet hair to murmur in his ear. It doesn't matter that they walk away together.

"Where's he going?" Frank asks anyway, maybe to Matt, or to Ray. She tries to make it sound like casual disinterest, but she's watching where they're going, even as she lights a cigarette. She motions for the bartender for a beer; he knows she's underage, but she's in the band, and will probably punch him in the dick if he says no. "Is that just a fan, or what?"

Matt snorts as he stacks up their amps and curls his hands into the carry-handles, hauling them up into his arms. They have to shove everything into the trailer as fast as they can, to make room for the next band to play. "Some fan. Yeah. If you wanna call it that. I wish I were a lead singer so I got those kinds of fans." Matt rolls his eyes with a grin, because it's not like he's ever hurting for female company. He steps to the side to let Otter through with his cymbal and stomps off the stage into the back as Gerard disappears into the club's shitty little bathroom with the girl. The bartender brings Frank her beer.

"Hmph." Frank sips casually at her beer, seeing how long it takes for Gerard to come out. But hey, she's human, and flirts halfheartedly with another girl, who's tall, dark haired, and pleasantly soft looking. It looks like her skin's probably never seen the light of day, and she definitely, definitely doesn't remind Frank of anyone else she knows. Not at all.

Frank leans up next to her at the bar, buying her a drink, and after a moment rests her hand on this other girl's hip. She's pretty sure that she has an A-name. Like Ashley, or Anne, or something. Something pretty and feminine and-

She gets blown off, the girl carefully removing Frank's hand from her hip like she might something distasteful, for all that she keeps the beer. "I don't care if you're in a band, I'm not- Just. No. Sorry."

Right, then. Not only is she not good enough for- For certain people that it hurts to even think about, right now, but she can't even pull at a bar where she just played.

It's a good thing the bartender's already got another beer ready for Frank by the time she turns back to him, because she needs it. She drinks half of it and then spots Ray, who's coming back in from stowing his guitars in the trailer, and smiles too-broad as she calls out to him. "Ray, you fucker. My game's off tonight. Did you put your hair in my amp for bad juju or something?"

Ray holds his hands up, laughing, and finishes grabbing the rest of her gear - it's faster for the guys to do it, to just grab and go, because they can make two trips and be done in the time it takes her to get through her first trip, stepping around people and struggling with the weight of the amps in her short arms - at the same time that the bathroom door opens and Gerard stumbles out and wanders towards the bar. The girl comes out not a minute later, wiping her mouth against the back of her hand with a grimace. She presses her other hand against her short denim skirt as she heads back over to the gaggle of girls she came in with, not even glancing around to see where Gerard went.

Gerard hits the edge of the bar hard, gesturing the bartender over as he pulls out a crumpled five from his pocket. He exchanges it for a plastic glass full of what isn't so much a screwdriver as vodka in a glass with orange juice for color and ice cubes for decoration. Half of the thing is gone before the bartender even has a chance to put the bill into the till.

Frank’s back straightens like a rod, and when Ray comes back in, it's to the too-cheerful shout of "Jager shots, Afroman! On me!" She pauses, her heels on the rail down by the floor and her elbows on the bar as she fishes up a grin for him. "Like, not on me, like body shots, but. I bet I can drink you under the table." Which is a fucking lie, but Frank doesn't care. She wants to ignore Gerard until she can't anymore, and the best way to do that is to climb down the neck of a bottle.

Just because he's been getting some action doesn't mean that she's upset, not when he's been giving her a lot of his attention lately. Not when she's totally gotten laid more this tour than he has in practically his entire life. But she can't even look in his direction without feeling sick, and what's that about? Is she jealous? Frank? Whatever. Monkeys might fly out of her ass, that's how jealous she is.

Frank shakes her head, pasting on her best fake-smile, and kicks her hip forward off the bar so she can dig her wallet out. She turns around, still balancing on her toes so she can get her elbows on the bar, instead of peering over it like a little kid. She digs some money out of her pink skull wallet; it’s her food money, but that's beside the point, and she hands it over in exchange for a bottle of Jagermeister and two shot glasses. "Ray, my buddy. C'mere."

Gerard only has another ten on him - Mikey has the rest of his cut of the money shoved inside, like, a shoe or something, and he doesn't know where it is - but that ten is enough to get him utterly annihilated, when it's spent in vodka and gin. Especially when it’s on top of all the beer that they started drinking at sound check and didn’t put down all the way through 'til just before they hit the stage. He sways as he makes his way carefully over to Frank and Ray's table, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he manages to ooze into a seat.

"Can I getta shot?" he slurs, mostly to Ray, since he's holding the bottle. He’s too loud, way too loud, over the hubbub of people getting ready for the headliner to go on.

Ray starts to tell Gerard that he's had enough, more than enough from the look of him, but he breaks off in shock when Frank oozes into Gerard's lap. He's had his suspicions, from things he's half-seen and overheard, the meaningful glances that Mikey keeps exchanging with his brother and best friend like some sort of eyebrow semaphore, but that's totally different from seeing it.

Frank's already drunk, her limbs loose and her nose numb with it, as she hooks her legs around him. She leans back, giving Gerard a view of the line of her body, the way her t-shirt hugs her skin and outlines the hard jut of her nipples. She was sweating and now she's getting cold, and it has nothing at all to do with the heat of his body between her thighs. The way his hand slides around to palm across the small of her back as she carefully juggles the bottle of Jager in her hands, one eye squinting closed as she to fills the shot glasses.

She brings the glass up, bumping the rim against his lower lip, and asks, trying so hard to sound cold, maybe angry, "All done over there? No more bathroom breaks for you?"

Only as drunk as he is would Gerard miss the undercurrent of danger in her words, the hurt in her eyes, but he really really is. He just grins a little, poking out his tongue to push against the shot glass so he can let the Jager slide down his throat, so drunk that he doesn't even have to think about relaxing to let the burning liquid down. He lets his head fall back, swallowing and licking his lips, and groans a contented little groan, not even hearing the click of the other shot glass as Ray puts it to the table top, not sure if he should interrupt, or if he should even bother.

This is totally like watching one of the Telenovela that his Mom loves so much, but it's his band, and he doesn't know what to do as Gerard slides his hand up Frank's back without meaning to do anything other than keep her steady. He opens his mouth, taking a breath, but lets it close again with a grimace as Gerard shifts, his head slumping forward a little, frowning at Frank thoughtfully. The fingers of Gerard's free hand clutch at the damp denim of her jeans, midway down her thigh, and it's like he doesn't even realize that he's doing it.

"Prob'ly should make one before we go,” he slurs. “Since we're not allowed to pee in bottles any more."

"That's not what I mean, jerk." Frank pours herself a shot, slamming it back almost angrily, and then pours another for Gerard, touching her forehead to his when she holds the glass up to his lips. "Was it good? Was she good? Is-"

And oh boy, she's working up a head of steam. Ray can smell the Jager from where he's sitting, can see the look on her face, where it's practically touching Gerard's, and this is maybe a good time to get up and go somewhere else. Because there's no way he could get between them without taking the brunt of the damage, like they're pod racing engines and the energy buzzing between them is potentially hazardous to bystanders. He takes the bottle and the cap with him. He's not stupid, and he doesn't want the cost of cleaning up the glass to come out of their cut.

Frank lets the shotglass fall to the table once the shot is past Gerard's lips, her words hot, almost angry against them in the Jager's wake. "Is it 'cause you don't think I will? Huh? You think I'm afraid? Or 'cause I'm a dyke, I wouldn't suck your cock until you didn't know your own fuckin' name?"

Frank's words leave Gerard blinking dumbly, wide eyed and kind of shocked. Maybe a little scared, when he realizes that Frank's all up on his lap and there's no good way to get between her and his balls without being really obvious about it. But he tries not to let that show, just huffs a little breath and gives her as level a look as he can manage, snuffling a breath through his perpetually stuffed up nose.

"'s not like it matters, Frank,” he says, sounding more hurt than he realizes. “You still- You still try t'get girls, don't you? And you- You're actually gettin' what you want, already. Jus' not from who you want. So's only fair."

But you said it was me that you wanted. Why does it hurt so much? Why is she fucking jealous? It's just- it's some girl, some stupid fan that went down on Gerard in a disgusting bathroom in a shitty club, and- and Gerard's right. Frank does hit on the girls she sees, if they interest her, and it is only fair. It's not even that they're doing... whatever they're doing, with his fingers and mouth on her, her hands clenched in his hair or against her own breast as he drives her to places she didn't think existed. It's how he treats her, like she's something more than just a bandmember. When he says her name, it sounds special, sounds different, on his lips.

"Fuck you, Gerard Way." Frank shoves him in the chest, slithering ungracefully from his lap and managing to keep her wet eyes and burning face turned toward the floor long enough to get outside, where she can't be seen by anyone else. Once the door is closed she leans against the scummy cinder block wall, picking halfheartedly at the posters under her hand as she stares up at the moths circling the halogen street light, biting her lip. Even the way she cries surprises her: deep, heaving sobs that sneak up on her, until she ends up vomiting up the beer, the Jager, her misery.

When she's done, her gulping sobs and dry heaves leaving her feeling tired and hollow, Frank climbs into the back of the van. She pulls a blanket onto herself, over her head even, so she can't see Gerard when he gets in, and pretends that the world outside doesn't exist. It doesn't take much pretending, when oblivion is right there behind her, just waiting to swallow her up as soon as her head hits the floor.

Gerard switches back to beer after Frank leaves, ignoring all of the girls who come up to talk to him. Including the girl who he visited the bathroom with, who he doesn't even recognize, for all that her big brown eyes and gamin face give him a pang as she watches him from under the fringe of her bangs. Instead he drinks, until his trip to the bathroom to take a piss turns into losing pretty much the entire contents of his stomach, leaving him shaky and blurry as he stumbles back towards his table.

Matt intercepts him with a quiet curse, and even though their tech is a skinny little bastard himself Gerard is easy to guide. He stumbles over a suspicious looking puddle in the parking lot, that Matt only just barely manages to navigate around, and lists heavily to the side as Matt transfers his attention to the side door, to get it pulled open. He's out before he even hits the floor behind the half-seat, wheezing. 

When the finally pack up it's Mikey who wedges the few remaining boxes of merch in around Frank, favoring her with a frosty look when she opens her eyes blearily. He opens the side door to let Matt in, tucking Ray's shoelaces back up so they don't hit Gerard in the face, and carefully edges a pillow in under Gerard's head before eeling into the front seat and pulling the keys out of his pocket with a sigh.

\---

They stop for coffee in the morning, and it's a good thing Gerard isn't even close to awake yet, when Frank peels herself away from him, sweaty and sticky and hung over like a motherfucker. Did they fight? What? Her mouth tastes like the asshole of a cow, and wanting coffee turns into wanting crackers and Advil and a big bottle of water. And maybe she'll grab one for Gerard, too, able to smell vomit and beer on his breath, sour like bad dreams.

"Mikey?" She's wearing her big black sunglasses in the convenience store, the sun and every other source of light ever making jagged shards of glass dig directly into her brain and setting all of her pain centers on fire. She's so hungover, and she can't remember why. It'd be nice to at least know what made her bawl until she barfed, and barfed until she couldn't stand up. What made her crawl into Gerard's soggy embrace halfway through the night.

"Mikey, I need your help." She does her best to shake off her funk as she puts her haul on the counter, her little hands shaking as she sips at her coffee, trying to keep her voice down so nobody else hears. "How do you touch a dick?"

Mikey doesn't respond right away, taking another drag on his bottle of frappuccino as he raises his eyebrows, trying to think of an appropriate response. He watches her conduct her entire transaction before he settles for, "Just, like, in general? Or do you mean how do you - You, Frank Iero - touch Gerard's dick? Isn't that what you mean?"

"Shut up," she snaps, defensive. "You know exactly what I mean. And don't laugh. I was just- I was thinking. That- about what you said." She runs a hand raggedly through her hair, probably blushing, except for the part where she feels all hot anyway. She follows him outside to sit on one of the benches next to where the bus is parked, and it’s an effort to not puke up a lung on his lap as she scrapes up a miserable smile.

"Yeah, I want to touch Gerard's dick, okay? Don't tell him. I'll know if you do, and you know I'll make you fuckin' miserable. I'll- I'll put vaseline on your glasses." That's all the bluster she can gather, though, and all she manages after is embarrassment. "How do you do it, though? I mean, I've touched toys and stuff? But never a real one."

"I think I could live my entire life happily without ever having to tell my brother that a hot chick wants to get up all on his business, don't worry." To be honest Mikey's more worried about getting nutpunched than vaseline on his glasses, but he thinks that - hopes that - Frank is too hung over to make any movements that sudden. He takes another drink and pushes his glasses up as he shrugs again, putting his ankle up on his knee and eying Frank curiously. She's this weird mix of mortified and curious, her eyebrows barely peeking over the frames of her glasses, and it's kind of cute.

"Dunno. I mean, seriously, it's not that hard. Or rather, it should be, but seriously, like. You just kind of put your hand around it and touch it." He wrinkles his nose and stands, rubbing the condensation from the sticky late-Summer air on his cold glass bottle off on his jeans as he continues, looking pained. "Like, as much as I would love to pretend that it isn't true, he's done this shit before. You could probably ask him."

"Thanks for the advice," Frank returns, sourly. "I'll hop right on that, later. We're stopping at an actual room this afternoon, right? Because please God, I need a shower. I smell like... something disgusting."

After a critical assessment based on a judicious sniff in her direction Mikey nods with a grimace. "Yeah, we're gonna crash out at a friend's place tonight. There might even be beds." 

"Which would be awesome." She might be able to sleep in a bed. Or on a couch, which would be totally and equally epic. Anywhere that's not the cold, hard floor of the fuckin' van.

“Try to contain your excitement," Mikey says drily. “And you should definitely shower, you smell like Jager and vomit and death. Maybe if we get him before he finds the liquor cabinet we can shove Gerard in there too. Not with you, though. I can only stand so much psychic trauma at a time." He smiles at her and puts his hand on her shoulder, somewhere between brotherly concern and manly shoulder-patting, not sure, as usual, how exactly he should treat his best friend-who-happens-to-be-a-girl.

"Are we there yet? Why aren't we there yet? I want a fuckin' shower." Frank ignores the weird, headache-inducing images brought on by the idea of shoving Gerard in the shower with her, and waves at Mikey as he turns away to get in the van before he gets stuck sitting shotgun with Otter. Again. After a moment's thought she wrinkles her nose and walks back inside, holding the door open to let a still-staggering Gerard through, and leans over the counter to wave over the girl that served her before. "Are these donuts fried in dead animal fat? Can I get a dozen, if they're not? The asshole in the bathroom's buying."


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, glorious fucking bliss of being clean, even if it's with some dollar-store shitty shampoo and a sliver-bar of Irish Spring. But she's clean and dressed when Frank sees Gerard heading into the bathroom.

"About damn time, stinkass." Her grin is nothing but friendly, certainly not nervous. Gerard doesn't need to know that, know what she's going to ask him when he comes out. She powers down one beer, then another, and by the time he comes out, looking kind of like a wet noodle, she's definitely buzzing. She waves a beer can at him with a questioning look on her face, knowing the answer even before it comes. It's a good thing, when Frank kind of feels like she's going to barf up a kidney, or something. Frank's really a marvel at vomiting up various body parts when she's feeling creative.

Gerard accepts the can from her eagerly. He perches carefully on the arm of the couch and does some sort of complicated juggling as he pops the top of his beer and extracts a pill from the bottle. He swallows it with a burp and a wrinkle of his nose and slides the bottle back into his bag, then stands. "Are we staying on the couch? Or are there, like. Beds?" 

He assumes that they're going to stay together. Mikey kissed the girl they're staying with on the cheek and disappeared off somewhere when they got there, and everyone else seems to be gearing up to party, which he's just really not up for after the gastrointestinal pyrotechnics of the night before. She looks up at him through her lashes, polishing off the last of her beer with a belch, and works up every ounce of whatever she can remember from the nights where she climbs up Gerard like a monkey on a stick.

"Wanna go to the basement?" Frank's too anxious to want to drink too much, not until she gets this whole dreaded dick-touching thing over with. Maybe it won't be that bad. It's Gerard's, it can't be anything to shriek and run in horror from, right?

And it's not like she hasn't seen it before, in a van full of guys, there's always a peen out here and there, it seems. But... this is different. She stands, resting her hands lightly on his biceps, and murmurs huskily against his ear, just waiting for him to laugh. "I wanna touch your cock. I want you to show me how."

There. That wasn't so bad, was it?

For a moment Gerard is convinced that he's hallucinating, that someone is going to jostle him and he'll wake up, passed out in the van like usual, but the moment passes and Frank's still in front of him, still breathing against his ear, and he swallows thickly before responding. "Um. Sure?" He grimaces, rocking back on his heels, and leans over to pick his bag up to sling it onto his shoulder as he offers her a pathetic, shaky smile. "You know where it is? Um. Um. The basement, I mean. Not-"

"Your dick?" Frank answers brightly. "No, I'm pretty sure I know where that is, but the basement door's just past the kitchen." It's early, there's only the band and a few friends here, yet, and the basement's empty for their... whatever this is going to be. Exploration, or whatever.

Once they're in the basement, with the door locked, Gerard drops his bag on the couch. She looks up at him, brave-faced, and asks, "Can- Can I at least see it? To, you know. Make sure it's where I think it is." This is way too fuckin' hard, sober. Mostly sober.

Gerard's brows come together in a woebegone little scrunch as he looks at her, taking a deep breath before he nods, his throat moving as he swallows. "Yeah, yeah. I just, um. Right now? I mean- It's not anything special, or anything. I promise." He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on his belt anyway, giving her a wide-eyed look as he tucks his lower lip in and takes a deep breath. "But I guess I can, uh. I can show you, if you, you know. Really wanna see."

Frank just looks at him for a moment, eyes wide and intense, and strips off her tshirt. "Does that help? I mean, boobs and stuff?" She doesn't look down, afraid that what she's feeling is right, and her nipples are pointing right at him like some kind of fembot thing. It's not like Gerard can help it; his hands leave his fly when she takes her shirt off, his fingers cool against her ribs as his thumbs rub over her nipples which are, okay, pretty much hard as rocks. And maybe that reassures him, a little, even if he's sure it's just because the basement is dank and way cooler than it is outside.

Frank manages to keep her arms at her sides, and when she glances down, it's at Gerard's fly rather than herself. "I do. Want to see. Okay?"

He smiles at her, weakly, and ducks his head as he reaches down again, undoing his belt and popping open the button of his jeans, hesitating to look up at her through his lashes.

"You don't have to, you know that, right? I just- I don't. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. Like, at all. Ever. You know?"

"I know, you big giant stupid. But I am uncomfortable, and I'm fuckin' nervous, so whip it out." Okay, maybe that's not the best way to phrase things.

"Wh- Whip it out?" It takes everything Gerard has not to laugh at that, or to run the fuck away.

"Shit. Fuck. I mean. I'm sorry. C- Can I help?" Frank rubs her palms against the hips of her jeans before putting her hands over Gerard's. "Can you show me how?" Everything in her is screaming what are you doing, you're gonna ruin everything, but she just... can't stop. "I mean. Can you show me how to touch you, so that you like it?"

He swallows and manages to bat her hands away, at least long enough for him to undo the zipper of his jeans, his briefs heather-grey on the little vee visible under his hoodie. He reaches up to rub nervously at the back of his neck as he shuffles back a step, his jeans slipping down his ass a little.

"I can, uh. I can sit down?” he says, worried and the slightest bit too fast. “Then you can, um. You can do whatever you want, and it won't be, like. You'll be able to see. If, um. If you want to see."

"'kay." She winces at the nervousness in her voice. God, she must sound like a fucking idiot to him, but this is all new and weird and weird, and did Frank mention it was new, too? And fucking scary, exciting. She walks him back to the couch, to sit him down.

"Ready when you are." Except maybe she's not quite ready, taking one of his hands and putting it up on her breast, nipple warm and hard against his palm, making her lashes touch her cheeks. "Okay, okay. Seriously, ready."

Touching her breast is reassuring for Gerard. It gives him the courage to take a deep breath and reach into his shorts, hitching out a small noise as he touches himself, his other hand twitching the slightest bit against her skin. He sounds a little strangled when he speaks, breathy and nervous, and he watches her face worriedly, uncertain that he should be doing this, or that she really wants what she says she does. 

"I- Uh. D'you- D'you want to feel first, or see? I mean, um. If you want to touch me at all. You don't have to, if you, uh. If you don't want."

"I don't know." She’s mortified that her voice comes out teensy-tiny, at the way seeing Gerard touch himself makes her feel, hot and squirrely low in her guts. "Touch, I guess. I do want to. I want-" Frank trips on her words, finds her place, and whispers it against his cheek, like she's afraid they're being overheard. "I want to get you off, okay? Shut up. I want to do it. So you've gotta show me how."

Gerard doesn't feel like arguing, about what she does or doesn't want to do, or see. "Okay, Frank," he mumbles, licking at his lips nervously. He can't help how much he wants to touch himself, that he's reacting to her closeness, and how her breasts shift closer together when she moves her arms in, even if it's out of nervousness. He moves his other hand from her breast to over the back of her hand, bringing it against his wrist as he shifts his hips and takes another deep breath.

"Just, uh. Just nod if, um. If you want me to show you."

Frank starts to nod, and realizes that's probably not the right thing to do right now, when he's got her hand, and she's about to touch - gasp - his cock. She touches her forehead to his, a gesture that's familiar and intimate, even outside of this big mess, quirking him a half-smile. "Ready when you are."

His eyes fall closed as she leans in, and the way their smiles mirror each other is completely unintentional, but her eyes are wide, stunned, her breath quick and warm on his lips.

"I just- I just. I-" she whispers.

He shifts his hand back, holding the band of his underwear out, and helps guide her hand down, first against the soft of his belly and through the scratch of his pubic hair before he curls her fingers around him. And Frank laughs, she can't help it, high and nervous, before trying her hand at stroking him, maybe in a way he'd like, not firm but not lax, up-down. "Oh my god, I'm touching you."

He catches a breath, tipping his nose against hers softly, and tries to ignore the way his stomach turns over and his cock twitches as he whispers carefully, "Just like that, Frank. Just- Just like that."

She kisses at his lips, not hot and open, daring and greedy like she usually does, but- but shy, seeking reassurance, things that Frank isn't, and isn't used to. "It's neat. It just-" Her eyes fall closed, and her words are barely kissed into his mouth as she makes a soft sound of disbelief, not quite a laugh. "It slides."

Gerard can't help but echo the noise she made, his giggle cracked and scratchy. He rubs his nose with his free hand and lifts his hips into the pull of Frank's fingers, even though he's nowhere near hard enough to thrust, yet.

"Yeah, yeah..." He breathes the words against her lips, trying to imagine what this must look like, what Frank must look like, but more than a little afraid to open his eyes, lest it just be another fantasy. He figures he can talk, at least, so he wets his lips and tips his nose against hers, curling his fingers reassuringly around her wrist. 

"Yeah, it does. It'll, um. It'll do that, uh, less? When I'm h- hard."

And maybe that last bit is reassuring, when she's trying to get past the omg scary thought that she's holding a cock, a real one, attached to a guy, to Gerard. She ducks her head to catch his lips for a moment, just a parting of mouth and a lick of tongue, before asking, "Why isn't it?" Frank's got a free hand, Gerard has a free hand, so she takes his and puts it against her breast again, arching her back just enough to press into his palm. "'s that help?"

It's easy for Gerard to distract himself with biting another gentle kiss to her lips, to touching her chest and teasing the point of her nipple between the side of his finger and the pad of his thumb. It's easy for him to push his hips up, to groan softly against her lips, to let his other hand slip free of her wrist to curl against the indent of her waist, his fingertips tight against her back. It's far easier to do all of those things than it is to sit back and pull his eyes open, his cheeks flushed splotchy red as he bites his lower lip and wheezes a little breath, nervous and tongue-tied-feeling as he mumbles. 

"I- Uh. I'm tryin', Frank. I just, uh. It's not- It's not like you can flip a switch, you know?" He suspects that she doesn't but he still looks at her, all wide-eyed and nervous, hoping to see some sort of understanding in her face. She doesn't understand, though, and it isn't as though she's angry for it, but she's confused.

"Let's- uh. Let's stop, for now. Okay?” She tugs her hand away, arm coming up to cover herself as she glances at the staircase, biting the ring in her lip.

“I'll go upstairs and grab some beer for us, and we can just, like. Hide from everyone." Frank smiles shyly, carefully reaching up to put both of her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them gently, reassured by the solid weight of muscle and bone beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie. She wrinkles her nose as she licks her lips, asking impulsively as she shifts back towards his knees, not quite knowing what to do with herself otherwise, "Did I yell at you, last night? I was pretty fucking drunk. Ray and I were doing Jager, and."

Gerard is utterly baffled, when she pulls her hand away and says those things. She doesn't seem to remember- well, to be perfectly honest he doesn't remember much of the night before either, but he remembers how much it hurt. And now she seems to just- to want to ignore all that. Plus, she's also talking about, you know. Beer. Which is so, so not going to help this situation, even he knows. 

"Can you, uh. When you're up there, can you get me a water? If there's any in the fridge, or whatever." he asks, reaching up to rub at the back of his nose as he tries not to fidget, feeling tense under the weight of her gaze. Trying not to feel resentful, that she just stopped, when it felt so good.

Frank touches her forehead to his, as much an apology as she can manage without actually coming out and saying it. "Lemme go get a couple of beers, I'll be right back. And just- don't do up or anything. 'cause I wanna try again."

Which is fair enough, but he still doesn't know where that puts him, especially on top of everything from last night. It’s frustrating, because it felt like it was working, and now he doesn't know what to do.

She's good to her word, after putting back part of Ray's beer and four shots of peach schnapps, which is a little syrupy for her liking but makes her feel pleasantly warm. Frank comes down with a couple of beers in one hand and a bottle of room-temperature water in the other.

"Sorry, none in the fridge. But-" She sprawls across his lap, dropping the bottles to the coffee table to strip her shirt off again, pushing her hips against his quizzically, "I figured if I was gonna get my hand down your pants again, you wouldn't want my fingers to be cold." Frank slips back until she's almost perched on Gerard's knees, leaning in to kiss breathily and sticky-sweet at his neck, just below his ear, by his temple, edging her hand down his shorts again, fingertips glancing off the head of his cock. "If you wanna touch me, I'd like that. If the angle's not all fucked up or whatever."

"I, uh. Oh- Okay?" The bottle of water is a lost cause, when he's got Frank all up in his lap and her hand down his pants, making him stumble and stutter as he licks his lips. "Just- Tell me what you want me to do, okay?"

But the angle is weird, and he feels weird, touching her when his stomach's full of butterflies and his thighs are tense, not at all sure what to make of Frank's attentions, still. He blinks at her before twisting his head so he can press a kiss to her lips, open and careful, shy.

Why the fuck is it awkward now, when it's never been this way before? Why does he feel all tentative and shy under her touch, like he doesn't really want her to do this for him? Isn't it what any guy would want? For a girl to jerk him off, or go down on him? Or maybe that's what Gerard's thinking about...

"Wanna go down on me instead?" Frank licks into his mouth with all the fearlessness and bravado that Gerard's used to when Frank pulls her kamikaze-sex-act on him. She mumbles the words fuzzy and warm against his lips as she combs one hand back and forth through his still-damp hair, soft and beginning to go fluffy as it dries.

This time, though, Gerard is sober, all too aware of how bad an idea this is, how little business he has touching her, expecting her to touch him at all, let alone be okay with it. But he doesn't want her to leave, doesn't want to stop touching her, can’t bring himself to want that. He reaches up to palm at her breast with a feeling of guilt, and an understanding that he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be the one to do this.

"I- Yeah, Frank. Yeah." He kisses her, sucking softly at her lower lip, and whispers quietly, his voice rough and raw. "That's what I want."

When he speaks Frank's contenting herself with molesting Gerard's hair, not sure if she likes it better clean, like this, or sweaty and tangled from being onstage. She eases off his lap and onto the cushion beside him, her lips curved to an inviting smile and a little, teasing glint in her eye.

"We've got the whole basement to ourselves. No van, no bathrooms. We've got a fuckin' couch. A couch. I could put my legs on your shoulders. I could pull your hair. C'mon Gee, you don't need to be all fucking nervous. It's me."

"You've already done that, Frank." Talking gives Gerard something else to focus on, lets him relax a little. He twists around and tugs his underwear up his hips a little as he slithers off the couch, landing heavily on his knees to turn around and smile at her, their heads almost level. "Put your feet there, I mean. But you can do it again, if you want. I, uh. You know. I'll do anything you'd like, Frank. Just, um. Just tell me, and I'll try."

"Leave 'em down," Frank demands, but there's not much steel in her voice. "I wanna see what it does to you. Pull 'em down further." She darts forward, smearing a kiss over his mouth, clash of teeth and tongue and lips, and she breathes against his skin, "I always kick shit over when we're in the van. You can bend me if you want. An' you know I can take it." She bites at her lip ring, watching his face intently, before shimmying around to lose her pants and panties. "There, ya big geek. Now you've got me all naked."

Gerard makes a little face at the name, knowing that she doesn't mean anything mean by it. "Bend you? Like... how?" he asks.

"I don't know, either. Bend me and find out. If I kick you, it's bad. If it makes me come, it's good. Easy answer, huh?" Her words might be sharp, but her touch isn't, into the dense damp of Gerard's hair, fingertips light on his cheekbone, on the arch of his brow.

Gerard blushes and ducks his head as he pushes his hands up the insides of her thighs, pressing his lips together intently. He nuzzles in to plant a kiss to the slightly-damp join of her hip and thigh, not entirely dry from her shower earlier. His thumbs slide up, palms flat against her skin, to pull her open gently as he glances up her body, his eyes red-rimmed but still inquisitive, his eyebrows raised. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"As if you don't know by now." Frank slouches further down into the couch, smiling at Gerard down the length of her body. "I want you to lick me until you can't fucking stand it anymore. And then I want you to show me how to jerk you off. Okay?"

That's definitely a challenge, one that Gerard's more than happy to accept. Especially when it means that he doesn't have to think about how he feels, how heat pools in his stomach as he ghosts his thumb over her, so-lightly teasing. He follows the touch with his tongue, his eyes falling closed as he sighs, and mumbles indistinctly, before placing a soft, sucking kiss against her.

"I bet I can go for longer than you can, like this."

Frank's laugh is interrupted by the press of Gerard's mouth, the gentle suck of his lips, and like clockwork, predictable and precise, she runs her hand into his hair, palm firm on the back of his head.

"Is- is that a challenge, Gerard Way? I could do this for hours.”

The thought on the heels of that - if it was you doing it - is lost in the way she lifts her hips, just a bit, shifting down against the support of his hands. How easy it is to say yes to Gerard, to ask him to do this to her.

"You're so fuckin' good at it," she whispers as she palms over the uneven tufty fuzz of her hair, the ache between her hips both uneasy and hot.

Somewhere in the main part of the house someone turns on a stereo, and the ceiling above them shakes with the thump of the bass as Gerard smiles a little and ducks his head slightly. He teases his fingers against the warm slick of her as he curls a light stroke against her clit with his tongue.

"As long as you want, Frank. I like doin' it to you," he says, his voice a little muffled and just barely audible over the dance music from upstairs.

"Does it get you off?" She’s still whispering, husky and low, unsure if he can actually hear her or if she's really just talking to herself. She hopes that it does, that he wants her that fucking badly that he can't stand it. Her fingertips tense on his scalp, and she pushes up against the lick of his mouth, groaning low and fluid and sweet, audible to Gerard's ears over the music.

Gerard's soft little "Mmm," reverberates through his touch far more than through the air. He moves with her, familiar and sober enough, now, that he knows how to make her buck and jerk, what to do to make her spine tense. 

He pulls one of his hands down from her hip, curling all but his index and middle fingers under, so that when he licks up her, intent and slow-slick, he can push them against her, careful and non-demanding, and hum another inquiry up against her. He glances up through his hair at Frank’s face as he waits for the sound that wrenches from her throat, easily predictable, as familiar as he is with this part of her. She fists her hand hard in his hair, hard enough that she feels the tug of hair and scalp, and hooks her knee over his shoulder.

"Fuck. Gerard, suh- seriously." The press of his fingers makes her gasp, makes her tip her head back, back arched so Gerard can see the jut of her nipples and count each rib against her skin, if he wanted to.

He's doing what she wants, even if he's not who she wants, and reassured of that he ducks his head again, closing his eyes to focus on her, on the taste-feeling of her against his lips and tongue and, as he tilts his hips and holds his breath, his fingers too. Gerard has to push firmly to get them inside her, but she's so wet that it isn't too difficult to curl them in once he's broached her. He tucks his fingertips up against the front wall of her body, rubbing them in slow come-hither motions as he strokes her clit with his tongue, steady-patterned, to try and bring her off. To reassure himself that he's doing this right, even though it seems like he doesn't have any idea what to say to her, what to do to her, in any situation other than this one right here.

The gasp turns into a cry, high and strangled, and her fingers pinch into his hair again. It's not long before she's shaking against him, whining out "Juh- mm- I'm cuh- mm-" Her heel digs into his shoulder blade, face contracted in something like horrible, delicious pleasure. Neither of them sees Otter when he comes down the stairs to summon Gerard for vodka shots.

"Hey Ger- Holy shit." Otter stands at the bottom of the stairs for a good five seconds, taking in the sinuous twist of Frank's body on the couch, and Gerard kneeling on the floor. "We're, uh. Doing shots upstairs. If you wanna come. If you're not too busy, you know-" And a laugh escapes him, mean and a little petty. "-coming, yourself. Holy shit, you and Frank."

Gerard looks up in sudden shock, so distracted, by the sounds that Frank's making and the way that she clutches and shudders against his tongue and around his fingers that he hadn’t even realized that Otter was there until he started to laugh. He's barely even aware of the noise he makes, angry and a little upset, possessive, and he casts around with his free hand to grab something, a shoe, maybe, anything, to chuck at the back of Otter's head, bestest best drinking buddy or no. But Otter is already turning on his heel and to stomp up the stairs, with the hollered announcement, "I found them! He's all up in her BIZ-NAZZ downstairs!"

Gerard gentles the flat of his tongue against Frank's clit and pushes his cheek against her thigh, breathing hot and heavy and open before the door slams again.

"I, um. Can, you know. I could go, if, you know- If you want me to," he says, voice husky and indistinct. He curls his fingers again, easing them free and pushing them into her as he groans and shifts his hips a little, all skinned-back lips and clenched jaw, murmuring as he kisses gently at the warm skin of her thigh, "If you don't want me to stay."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Frank croaks. "If you leave, I'm killing you first, then fuckin' Otter, and then I'll spend the rest of my fucking life in the back of the van all. By. Myself. Okay?" When Otter laughed - stupid Otter, Frank doesn't even give a shit he saw her naked, but he didn't have to laugh at them - but the noise Gerard made then made Frank weak in her guts on some basic, primal level. It's the same feeling she'd get when Jamia would pull Frank against her and kiss her in front of everyone. This is my girl. Frank rocks against Gerard's fingers, whispering into the air, "Stay, stay. Fuckin' please."

Gerard's hand comes back up from his side to gentle against the back of her thigh, rubbing against her soft skin as he kisses her, damp and careful, his eyes closed, before he can find a smile to turn up for her. He looks up at her through the shade of his lashes as he slides his thumb up against her deliberately, teasing at the side of her clit with the pad of his thumb.

"I don't wanna go, Frank. I just- I just wanna, uh. I wanna stay with you." And the smile he offers her is crooked, embarrassed and soft, before he ducks his head and presses a gentle kiss to the join of her body and thigh, not even noticing to mind the scratch of her pubes against his lips. "You've just gotta tell me, Frank. What you want."

Frank shivers openly, covering her eyes with her free hand, her other palm still firm and guiding on the back of Gerard's head. "You know what I like, Gerard? Okay? Your fucking mouth. Seriously." Her words are trembly, verging on indistinction, gasping a breath when he presses his thumb to her. "Still wanna t- touch you, you know. Don't forget about that shh- shit." She presses her heel to his back again, guiding his lips back to her with a pleading little sound.

He goes easily, replacing his thumb with his lips and tongue as he takes a deep breath, mostly through his nose, and squeezes his eyes closed again. He's hard now like he wasn't fifteen minutes before, aching against the strain of his baggy jeans, and once he has her moving and gasping again, he slides his hand off the back of her thigh to rub at himself, slow and deliberate, palm and fingers tense against the hard arch of his cock. "Mmmgh."

She hears him, and barely registers on some level that he's touching himself. Frank's just too busy pressing his face to her cunt, lifting her hips into his fingers and tongue, too busy chasing the jagged pleasure in her belly to make him stop, to make him hold on until she's done and can do it for him.

"Fuh- fuck," she gasps, tweaking one of her nipples between a finger and thumb, the burn of it just enough to send her over the edge again. "Gerard, Gerard fuck. Shit."

As she seizes up around him Gerard groans openly, soothing her through it with the warm press of the flat of his tongue and the slow, steady motion of his fingers. His fingers shake a little as he grabs at himself through the fabric of his underwear, sliding his thumb up to slide against her again. He hides his face against her thigh as he chokes out a noise, low and hushed, rocking his hips forward into the press of his hand as he tries and fails to catch his breath.

"Fuck, Frank."

"Quit it," she hisses, fisting her hand near the neckline of his shirt, pulling him up by fabric and by hair, smashing her mouth into his, hard clash of teeth and tongue as she fumbles to find his hand, to slip her fingers under his. "It's supposed to be me. Show me how to jerk you the fuck off, Gerard. I wanna make you come." Gerard whines at the tug of her fingers in his hair.

Frank can taste herself on his tongue, and she groans into his mouth, pressing her hips against his thigh. Fuck, fuck, he's big in her palm, but it doesn't matter when his hand's over hers, and she squeezes him through his underwear. Gerard turns his wrist to keep his fingers in and against her as he half-straddles her, his thighs to either side of one of her much smaller, naked ones. He licks into her mouth, his fingers jerking against and inside her as he fumbles with his other hand, trying to help her push his shorts down. When he’s finally free he closes his hand around himself, her hand sandwiched between his cock and his own, and pushes up into his slow stroke with a low, desperate sound. 

"Okay, okay. Here, just- Just lemme, okay? I want-"

"-what? What d'you want?" If Frank's going to be honest with herself (which she rarely is, when it comes to Gerard), this is probably the most charged sex she's had since Jamia, all pushing and pulling, greedy and sloppy in her need to get off, and to get her partner - Gerard, it's Gerard, and he's a boy - off. To give him a reason to want her, to fucking need her, and she nips at his jaw as he pushes into their shared grip on his dick. "It still slides a little," she breathes, pushing up into the thrust of Gee's fingers. "Fuck, I kinda like it."

"Tuh- Told you," Gerard whispers, smiling breathlessly as he rubs against her, all press of thumb over the slick rise of her, pressing his fingers forward since he can't properly move them, with his wrist turned at an angle like that. His hips buck, a little, as he licks his lips, groaning at the taste of her on them, then licks into her mouth. He’s barely even aware of her hand helping him to stroke himself, all callused fingers and delicate palm beneath his. 

"I like it too," he mumbles, grinning a little as he licks the corner of her mouth before admitting with a low groan, "I like you."

"'m glad," she whispers. "I'm fucking glad you're you and not somebody else." It might not make sense out loud, but it's perfectly logical in Frank's head: how Gerard is not a boy and not a girl, but instead something that's all Gerard Fucking Way, and doesn't ever need to be anything else.

"Fuck." she breathes. "You fucking- you- ah- you're gonna make me come uh-gain." Her hand tenses around him, her stroke awkward and stilted under his palm, and Frank hides her face against his neck. "Fuck." High, almost a whine, before she shivers against him, tense and tight and with her teeth dug into his collarbone.

It's a shock, when Gerard's fingers twitch forward and his thumb smears against the twitch of her, his exhaled breath a hot stutter-stop against her hair as he jerks and comes. He pulls her hand back to stroke his shaft tensely, pulls himself through it with a gritted jaw and tense thighs. Finally he relaxes, settles, unwinding his fingers to brace his hand against the back of the couch as he circles his thumb against her once and then stills, panting openly against her forehead.

"Whoa."

"Did I do it?" Frank's words are shaky and small against Gerard's neck, resting both her hands against the backs of Gee's hips. It feels slippery against her skin, and he made a face and a noise and just. He was fucking beautiful. She twitches against him when he moves his thumb, just far enough past her last orgasm for this to be too much, and Frank pushes at his wrist until Gerard's fingers are free from her body. "Was it good, did I do it?"

Gerard laughs weakly, feeling all shaky, cracked and broken, resting the back of his wrist against the inside of her thigh as he falls knees-first onto the floor again, pulling his eyes open laboriously so he can smile at her weakly. 

"Yeah, Frank, yeah. It was- It was really fuckin' good. And- And it was all you." Then he glances down, and his eyes widen as he chokes out an embarrassed noise, reaching up with his still-slick fingers to touch her breast, the unevenness of her ribs. His come looks almost shocking against her pale, pretty skin. "I, uh. I didn't- I didn't mean to. Um. All- All over you. Sorry."

"Ugh, you're gross." But there's no seriousness behind Frank's voice as she reaches for her t-shirt to clean up, when Gerard said it was all you. There's no fucking way she could honestly be grossed out by him. Even when she tries to think about it rationally, that Gerard's a guy, with a real-live cock, and he came on her. She's still not all up in arms with the 'hey, I'm a dyke and you're a dude, and we just about had realsex with each other'. If Frank's being honest with herself about Gerard...this time she listens, instead of shoving it away into the 'not thinking about it lalala' category. There's a good chance she wants more with him. Maybe.

Meanwhile, Gerard knows how few shirts Frank has left that are clean, and how much of a pain in the ass it is to do laundry. So he blocks her hand with his good one, the one that isn't sticky with both of them now, and makes a little face at her as he sucks his fingers clean. Then he carefully pulls her entire body up the sofa so he can lean in with his face level with her breasts. He licks his lips and leans in, taking a soft breath, before he cleans himself up off her skin, licking and sucking light color under her paleness. When she’s clean he looks up with a soft, shy smile as he rubs at her legs, trying to be soothing, calm, when he knows she's got to be freaking out, at least a little. 

"See? All better. No need to, uh. To ruin your shirt like that."

Now that the lethargy of what they've done is wearing off and sleepiness hasn't settled in to replace it, Frank watches, eyes big and mouth in a fine line. It breaks into a little smile, so out of place on Frank's face that it seems painted on.

"That was kind of scary, you know? I mean, that we- That I. And you." Frank sighs, running her hand through his hair again. "Jamia used to call me a chicken when we'd try something new. And this- this is as fucking new as it gets, for me."

She looks at him, having no idea whether he feels the same way, if he's as nervous about this as she is, now that neither of them are particularly drunk.

"I'm- I'm gonna stay down here for a little while, if that's cool. I've gotta think about stuff."

That's obviously a dismissal, so Gerard nods as he sits up, moving his hands carefully away from her sides before he reaches down to tug up his shorts and jeans, doing them up with only slightly fumbly fingers. 

"I, uh. Yeah. Yeah, okay. You, uh. You catch up on your sleep, if you can. I know you always hate, uh. Hate trying to sleep on the bus." He pulls himself to standing by pushing heavily against the arm of the sofa, his face contracting at the effort. "I'm gonna see if there's any booze left, but I'll, uh. I'll be back. If you want me." He pushes his hair back behind his ears and smiles weakly, feeling it slip off his face almost as soon as it appears. 

"I hope you come back." But it's quiet, at Gerard's retreating back, and she tucks herself around a pillow and closes her eyes. She doesn't know how to deal with this, but she hopes that while she dozes that she'll come up with something.

"Hey Gerard, did she kick you out 'cause you've got a dick?" Such is Otter's greeting, even as he's pushing a shot of vodka into Gee's fingers and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "I mean, seriously. If anyone's getting pussy in the band, it should be me."

"So does that mean you're more of a chick than Gerard?" It's Ray, beer in hand, and he favours Gerard with a half-smile. "Or is that more like, stay out of their fucking business?"

Gerard waits until the shot is burning its way down his throat to shove Otter away from him, harder than he maybe realizes. He reaches for the bottle, frosty-cold from the freezer, and squints at the lack of pour spout before measuring himself out another generous shot and tossing it back. When he's caught his breath he mutters quietly, not even looking at Otter, "Don't say a fucking thing about her, dude. It's none of your concern."

"Actually, it is. You're the singer in our band, and she's the guitarist. The only girl guitarist, I might fucking add. And if you two are banging, then where does that leave the rest of us?" Otter slugs back another shot after taking the bottle from Gerard's fingers. "So, because she's your little girlfriend or whatever, none of us get a say in what happens? Bullshit, Gerard." Otter slops into a kitchen chair and looks up at Gerard. "She's gonna dump you the second some pretty girl looks her way. You know it. 'cause, hey. Here's the truth: you've got a dick and she ain't interested."

"It leaves you guys - and me, most of the time - with our hands, just like we were before. She's not obligated to do anything just 'cause she's a girl, you dick." He doesn't even taste his third shot, and wobbles a bit as he goes up on his toes to glare at Otter, which, shit. He should probably not drink any more. And maybe get, like. Some food. There's an idea. "She's not my girlfriend, she's the band's guitarist, and I'm not banging her, you misogynist fuck. I'm not going to- To treat her one bit different if she doesn't want to do... Whatever, with me, any more. She's still going to be our guitarist. That's not gonna change."

"I don't really give a shit what you're doing with her, if it's banging, or you're eating her out like cheap chinese food. If things go sour between you guys, where does that leave us? I mean, do you at least see that she's got you pussywhipped to the point where you don't even realize you fucking fawn over her onstage? She doesn't even see it. Because she's. Not. Interested." It could be blamed on the fact that Otter's ripped, but there's also some other kind of meanness hiding in there. That Gerard doesn't deserve that much affection, maybe. "You're going to fuck everything up."

Gerard doesn't even realize when he's thrown the punch, slow and awkward, his hand balled up in an inexpert fist. Otter leans out of the way easily, seeing it on Gerard's face before his fist even comes up, and stands, shoving Gerard's shoulders. Gerard is so angry he feels hot and cold at the same time, his face screwed up as he hisses, "Don't you dare say that fucking shit about her, Otter."

"Is that what it is? You'd stick up for her before me? I thought it was bros before hos, or something like that. You'd pick a fucking fight with me, over her? You've known me for how long?" Otter all but jeers in Gerard's face, breath frozen with vodka, face hot with anger. "She comes along, and suddenly we don't fucking matter."

Bros before hos. Bros before hos? Did he really just say that? But oh, he did, and nothing after that does anything to assuage Gerard's unthinking anger. He sputters, trying to explain, to say that Frank's not anything like that, that she's in the band too, fuck's sake, but it all gets tangled on his tongue as he heaves in a breath, then another, and all but flings himself at Otter. He's so angry he can barely see, and doesn't even feel the first punch fall.

There's one-two-three before Otter realizes he's got blood on his knuckles, and it's not as if he starts caring, with that realization. But it's only three, before Ray's got him, yanking him back, and Cortez is holding Gerard's arms. "Yeah, go back to her, will ya? An' when she leaves you behind like fuckin' dirty laundry, I'll be the first one to say 'I told you so.'"

Ray muscles Otter outside, and though Otter might be a drummer, Ray still outsizes him by just enough, this time, shoving him down on his hands and knees to dunk Otter's head in a cooler full of ice water.

"I don't give a shit you can't hear me, but if you ever say anything like that about Frank again, I'm letting her at you. And you don't want that." He yanks Otter back by the hair, and looks down in his face. "Don't pull that shit again."

Cortez barely has a chance to get Gerard spun around towards the sink until he's losing the meager contents of his stomach, blood streaming from his nose and upper lip as he coughs and wheezes, trying to remember how to breathe. When he finally feels okay enough to stand he almost falls, dizzy from the rush of adrenalin and the solid punch to the height of his cheekbone, the fact that he hasn't eaten shit since the night before. But Cortez is there to catch him, to get him sat down with napkins for his face, at least until the cuts can get glued shut with superglue and he can eat something, even if it's just some cereal from the house's pantry. After that, he feels better, if only by a little, given that his eye is already starting to swell shut and one of his front teeth feels a little loose. He blinks at Cortez, swallowing thickly.

"Can you help me get downstairs?” he asks nervously. “I- I told her I'd come back. And I dunno if I can, like. Get everything fixed, 'thout passing out."

"Sure, totally." Matt's not sure what Gerard means by getting everything fixed, but he figures he'll find out soon enough. "Heigh-ho. Up you go." He gets Gerard's arm around his shoulders, and even though he's rail-skinny, he's really kind of badass at holding Gerard up, then carefully maneuvering him down the stairs to where Frank's sound asleep wearing nothing more than the pillow she's curled up around.

"Swear to fucking God, that kid wouldn't get dressed if we didn't make her." Matt gets Gerard sitting on the couch at Frank's feet, and kneels by Frank's head. "You get her awake and I'll get her dressed."

Gerard nods vaguely, still feeling more than a little nauseated and disgusting, his face all sticky with glue, but at least not dripping blood. 

He leans over, his body heavy against Frank's legs, and rubs at her arm, saying a little indistinctly, "Frank. Frank. Wake up- Wake up so you c'n get dressed, and Matt can get the bed open. Please?"

Seriously, if it were anyone other than Gerard, who's totally mastered the art of waking Frank up and not getting a punch to the head, Frank would be leagues crabbier than she is. She frowns sleepily until she sees him.

"Hi." She says, soft and fuzzy. "You came back." But her pleasure at seeing him is dampened by the swelling of his eye, the spots on his face that are red and raw and wrinkled with super glue. "What happened?" Matt's already pulling her shirt over her head, because the sooner Frank's dressed, the sooner she'll go back to sleep, and they can put off telling her what a douche Otter is.

And, spare Otter castration with guitar strings.

Once Frank's shirt is on Gerard helps her stand up. Or rather, he sort of leans her against his chest and stands, half-holding her against his body so that Matt can skin first her underwear then her jeans up her skinny legs.

"It's nothing, Frank." He doesn't want to talk about it, and sort of stumbles a step, then another, so he can sit his ass against the edge of the arm of the couch, holding Frank against him. She curls her arms around Gerard's waist, tucking her face against his neck, while Matt unfolds the sofa bed. "You ready to go back to sleep?"

"Mmh." She's been more asleep than awake this whole time, barely able to keep her eyes open while they dressed her, and and is already sleeping before Gerard asks the question, breath slow and even on his skin.

"I wish I could do that," Matt mutters, pulling the cushions off. "Dude, gimme a sec to get this out, okay?" He's quiet, fiddling around with the mechanism, and then he asks, not looking at either of them, "Are you guys serious or something?"

Gerard shrugs, holding Frank's body carefully away from where the bed is going to unfold, trying not to jostle her or wake her up, when she looks so peaceful in her sleep. He wrinkles his nose a little and grimaces at the sting of it, lifting his fingers to it to make sure that it's not bleeding again as she snuffles vaguely against his chest.

"Dunno,” he says softly. “I don't- I mean. I dunno if she feels like me the way I feel about her, you know? But that's okay. Even if- Even if she finds some girl, or, like, gets back together with Jams, or whatever... That would be okay. We'd still be friends. We'd still be a band."

Matt gets the bed out, and takes a moment to inspect Gerard's face. "Nah, it'll hold. You'll live to fight another day." He throws a blanket onto the mattress, holding a hand out to Gerard. "I don't know, man. She looked pretty happy to see you. She always does, you know? And I know you'd still be a band if it got weird. I'm not Otter. I can actually think past having a chick in the band."

"You sure you don't wanna learn the drums?" Gerard laughs at that, rubbing at Frank's back until she rouses just enough that he can guide her down onto the bed, his big hands tucking her head onto the pillow that he grabs from the floor. He shrugs and says, his voice soft for more reasons than just him trying to keep Frank asleep, "It doesn't matter what I want it to be, you know? It- I'd never make her do anything that she didn't wanna, and that's what's important. If she ever wants, you know, whatever, then cool. But until then I'm just gonna keep my big mouth shut."


	4. Chapter 4

"Gerard." Frank hisses against his ear, awake in the dark, with the hum of the van around them and the bump of the road beneath. It's late enough that everyone else is asleep except for Otter, who's waaay up front driving, and can't be a total fucking cocksmack to her like he has been. "Gerard, wake up? Please?" She's waited this long, until the breathing around her becomes long and even, with the occasional sniff-snore from Ray. It's from Ray's bag that she's gotten what she needs, and she presses it against Gerard's palm, whispering him awake.

Gerard's co-opted the side of the back that doesn't have boxes in it any more, from where they've sold so much merch that they're starting to run out, and isn't that awesome? It means that they can actually pay for gas every night, even when the ticket sales suck ass, and actually eat something vaguely approaching real food. It also means that he can actually stretch his legs out, his arm shoved under the pillow beneath his head, and really sleep. So even when his hand closes around the wrapper in his hand he doesn't really wake up, just frowns a little and mumbles low in his throat, as he tries to hide his face against the pillow.

"G'way, sleepin'."

"Gerard Way." Frank leans right in, lips touching his ear. "Wake up. Seriously. Look in your hand, you idiot." She can't say it, can't ask, but at the very least she can give him a huge fucking hint. Her whisper turns desperate. "Gee, please?" Frank looks around furtively, making sure that everyone's really asleep, before touching his other hand to her skin, just under the hem of her shirt. "Gerard, it's me. C'mon, please?" It's taken a lot of thought, a lot of anxiety that involved avoiding Gerard for the better part of a week - even on stage, and wasn't that weird - and snapping at everyone else who tried talking to her, to come to this decision.

"Mmmfuck." Gerard's hand is up on her breast before he really realizes that he's awake, that Frank's there, and he's not just dreaming. He makes a little face, his hand shifting to settle the swell of her breast more firmly against the cup of his palm, and grins as he squints up at her, fitfully lit by the passing highway lights. "Hey, Frank." He starts to sit up, a little, before he realizes that his other hand is closed around something and he has to tug it down in front of his face to frown at it thoughtfully. "What's- Oh. Oh."

All Frank can do is look at him with big, apprehensive eyes, chewing at the ring in her lip. "So, um. How 'bout it?" It's more than she's said to him this week entirely, and it's to ask him for- for that. "I've been thinking. You know." She breathes, leaning into his touch and looking down at the outline of his hand under her shirt. "Do- do you want to fuck me?" It’s not an invitation, but a request for reassurance, that he wants to step out of what they've been doing, all hands and fingers and ohgod his mouth and into something else.

Gerard blinks up at her, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated in the dim light, and drops the condom wrapper on his stomach so he can reach up to her, touch her side gently as he licks his lips. "Right now?" he asks quietly. Even though he doesn't think that that's what she means, what she possibly could mean, his body still reacts, making his hips shift and his knees pull apart a little. He tugs gently at her waist, fingers curled against the small of her back as he tries to bring her down to lay against him. "Or just, like, um. In general? Because... Yeah."

"Yeah." She echoes Gerard, answering both his questions at once. Frank moves easily against him, reassured by him, by his touch and warmth and bulk. "This is as close as we get to being alone, and everyone's asleep, and." She shrugs, felt in the dark more than seen. "I've been thinking," Frank repeats, little more than a whisper against Gerard's jaw. "And I wanna try, you know? With you." She returns the touch, palm against his waist, up under his layers of clothes. "Is that cool?"

He makes a soft little sound, a little sleepy still, and the slightest bit uncomfortable as he arches under her cold fingertips and grimaces the slightest bit. "Okay, Frank. If- If that's what you want, then cool. I'm cool with that. With trying."

She maybe feels a little bit guilty about waking him up to do this, but she couldn't tell him earlier, not with everyone around and awake, with the chance that they might hear. Not with the risk that Mikey might give her that evil, disapproving look from behind his glasses, or Otter make a joke. Fuckin' Otter, Christ.

"Where do we start?" This probably means she's going to have to touch his cock again, and it makes Frank's stomach clench alarmingly. Not only will she touch it, but it'll be going places, to quote some tv show, that no man has gone before. "What would be the easiest way to do it? I- I could be on top?"

That wakes Gerard up, thinking about Frank like that. He makes a low sound and twists, settling on the floor of the back of the van with an uncomfortable little sound as he tugs at her hip, curling his fingers through her belt loop as he leans up to press a gentle, undemanding kiss to the corner of her mouth with a feeling something like disbelief. His voice is soft, hushed in deference to how close by the sleeping people are, and when he leans back to look at her, his eyes are wide. 

"Are you- Um. Okay. Yeah, you should- That'll probably work best. You- You, you know. On, um. Me. And we should probably start with, like. Kissing? I mean- Like we do, whatever, than after that we can, um. Uh. Whatever."

"Then maybe you'd better start kissing me, stupid." Frank smiles against the delicate press of Gerard's mouth, curling her hands into fists against Gerard's skin. He's always warm, and she snuggles herself against him, against two-day-old clothes, veiled with sweat and skin and beer: Gerard's smell, his body. And while it's comfortable, familiar, safe, it's scary and somehow fucking sexy all at once, and it's too easy to imagine him sitting up against the back of the bench with her spread out over him. Too easy. "Wanna touch my tits?"

"Does the sky appear blue to the human eye?" Gerard kisses her again, hot and open, and slides a hand up under her shirt. He pushes his tongue against her lips, into the warmth of her mouth, as he groans softly, palming up her ribs to thumb firmly against her nipple,. He’s trying to figure out what he can do to make her seem less tense, less afraid, when he's pretty much convinced that her fear is all his fault in the first place. When their lips finally part, all slick and kiss-swollen, he mumbles softly, under his breath, as he tries to ease her a little bit more firmly onto his body, "I always wanna touch you, Frank."

"No shit." Frank goes easily, knees bracketing the sides of Gerard's hips, arms braced over his chest so she can look down at him. This is okay, so far, with clothes still on and him touching her the way he wants, and it's kind of like stepping into hot water... a little bit at a time, and suddenly you're all the way there and it's fucking perfect. Though Frank's got her doubts about anything being perfect in the bumpy back of a van, it'll be alright, because it's Gerard. "You should do it more often." Hushed against Gerard's lower lip. "I like how you touch me. You- you touch me like I matter."

Gerard can't help but frown at that, even as he's tugging her down against him. His body presses up under the weight of hers even though she's sitting across his waist and there's nothing at all for him to rub against, to grind into as he stumbles sleepily towards hard.

"You do matter, Frank." He can't help but kiss her again, his fingers sliding over the shorn-short of her hair, and when he finally abandons her mouth he's breathless, his other hand working over her breasts carefully, almost worshipful. "I'd touch you all the time, if- If you wanted me to."

"Sometimes I just feel like- like I'm just the girl in the band, to those guys. But you-" Frank twists into his touch, talking low and hushed against Gerard's cheek. "I don't know what it is. Because- I don't do this. I don't want this. Except with you. And it's fucking me up. And I need to fuckin' know that you want it, too. That you want it as much as I do, you know? Like, not drunk and not... whatever." She shakes her head in the dark, hair skimming over Gerard's palm. "It fucking scares me to feel like this. And I want to do something about it." Frank moves back, so she's against his hips rather than his waist, and sits up to peel her shirt off and stuff it beside Gerard's pillow. "So touch me. All the time. Okay?"

It's dark enough that it's hard for Frank to see the shock on Gerard's face, how wide his eyes are as he nods and props himself up on his elbow. He reaches out his other hand to touch her again, to cup her breast gently against his palm before he slides his hand down her ribs. He gasps a little as his hips shift, pressing the arch of his cock firmly against her inner thigh. He slides his thumb under the band of her jeans, rubbing at the warmth of her skin as he licks his lips and mumbles to her, breathless and low.

"I wanna touch you, Frank. Just- You've just gotta tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

"You don't know by now?" Frank almost sounds hurt. "I think you've touched me in enough places, both, like, you know. On my body and in various public places, to know what I like. Or what I want. You say it every time, and have I ever told you to stop?" She fumbles in between them, because if she's got her shirt off, then he can have his pants off, for fuck's sake. And when Frank speaks again, her voice is rough against the mess of Gerard's hair, over his ear. Demanding, if that's what Gerard wants from her. "Finger me. Until I have to fucking beg for it. And I want to know where you were, on me. I want fuckin' hickies and everything. Got it?"

Gerard squints up at her, mock-suspicious, and when he moves it's to reverse their positions, his hips heavy against hers. He reaches down, popping open the button of her fly and pulling the zipper down quickly, squinting down at her, his hand warm against the back of her neck as he rests his weight on his forearm. 

"I know what you like, Frank. But I want you to tell me what you want."

"I did tell you what I want, Chrissake." She kisses messily at his mouth, pushing up against the rub of him, tangling her fingers in his hair. He slides his hand into her underwear, his fingers steady as he rubs them against her, picking up a slick before he presses deliberately against her clit with the side of his middle finger. 

"Hickies, you said? I can do hickies."

He grins down at her as his hips shift, rubbing himself the slightest bit against her thigh. She grimaces back, just at the pressure of Gerard's finger, right where he knows she fucking likes, and the majority of the expression is actually a smug half-smile.

"You better do hickies. I wanna get in the shower and rub one out and know why I'm covered in bruises." Frank licks into his mouth before breathing against his lips, "I wanna do it and think about what you did to me."

"I can do that." He keeps moving his fingers against her as he ducks his head, kissing at the line of her jaw before mouthing his way down to her collarbone. "I bet you like the sting," he mumbles into her skin, before latching on, sucking hard enough to sting as he worries the thin skin with his tiny, even teeth. Frank hisses, tipping her head back and tensing her fingers in his hair, biting her bottom lip to keep from making some truly embarrassing noises. He knows that this is something he's actually pretty good at, and he loves it, loves the feel of her, the taste of her, under his fingers and on his tongue. "Mmm."

"I've got tattoos.” she manages to breathes out after a moment or two, “'course I like the sting, dummy." She kisses the top of his head, his hair oily and cigarette-stale on her lips, muffling her little sounds against him. "Gerard-?" Trying to put words together like a puzzle, finding the right things to say that'll make everything that she feels come together in one perfectly clear picture. "Gee?"

Gerard's lips make a soft sucking sound as he pulls away from her neck. He curls his hand from under her head to press against the mark with his thumb as he looks up at her, his eyes wide and his skin lambent in the dim light. "What? Is- D'you want me to do something different, Frank? 'cause if you want, I can."

"No, no," Frank hushes, wincing under the push of his thumb, tipping her head back to breathe short and sharp against the cheap fucking naugahyde of the bench seat where Mikey and Matt are balanced against each other, sleeping. Her whole body arches up like she doesn't want him to stop, because she doesn't want him to stop, not with his mouth or his fingers, not when it makes her twist up under him, biting her bottom lip to stifle the clipped gasps of breath.

“I don't remember. Never mind. Forget it. You're too fucking distracting," she purrs, drawing her hand through Gerard's hair, her body stretched prettily under his. "Just...Will you make it good? As fuckin' good as everything else you do?"

Gerard smiles hesitantly at that, ducking his head again to bite at her nipple, pulling it into his mouth with a wet little sound as he shifts his wrist around, getting his fingers curled under. Once he's got his hand in the right position he shifts, getting his first and second fingers tucked against her, almost in her, and pulls off with a soft sound to mumble huskily.

"I'll do my best, Frank. My very fuckin' best, I promise."

"Then it'll be good enough," Frank answers, closing her eyes against the suck and sensation of Gerard's lips, pulling her knees apart for him. "How- how much did you think about this before, to know huh. How to touch me?" Her hand drifts from his hair to her other breast, cupping it in her palm as she twists, slow and sinuous, under him.

You make me feel like she did, and I don't know what to do with that. Stupid, stupid Gerard. Even in her head, it's not a rebuke, but simply frustration at how he's totally fucking skewed her sense of self. It’s only been a couple of months that they've been at each other - or, more like, she's been on him and he hasn't said a word to argue. The question almost slips past her lips, just before Frank's mental filter kicks back in and kills the words against her teeth: Am I your girl, Gerard?

"Too fuckin' much," Gerard mumbles against her, working her over with lips and tongue and teeth as he twists his fingers against her, rubs at her almost-teasing with his thumb. 

He's embarrassed about how much time he's spent thinking about her, with his hand on his dick when he's crashed out on the floor of the van, or maybe sometimes - the very few times - when he's sober enough to get roped into driving, and everyone else is crashed out asleep. Even before she expressed any kind of interest in him at all, and that should make him feel gross, dirty, that he'd thought about someone who was abso-fucking-lutely off limits, but somehow he just can't make himself feel that way. Not when he almost never got off, his meds doing their jobs a little too efficiently in quashing his emotions. Not now, when he's pushing two fingers into her, slow, and turning his head to suck her other nipple into his mouth, leaving it so-firm and wet as he worries it so, so carefully between his teeth.

"How much've you-" thought about it? How bad do you want me?, he doesn’t finish, his voice hushed and low voice.

"Lots. Too much. Fuck." She groans, low and soft, locked behind clenched teeth and squinch-closed eyes, trying to picture what he does to himself, thinking about her. About her, when he could be thinking about anyone else, ever. Like Christina Ricci, or- or anyone. And maybe it started out as a drunken experiment, 'hi Gerard, I like you, let's see how you kiss,' but it's traveled long and hard from there to this point, and Frank's barely able to keep her voice down to little more than a whimper in the dark.

She curls her hand into his hair again, holding him against her, greedily, unable to keep entirely still and trying to keep the pant of her breath at a minimum. Once she's arched up against him like that, pressing his face to her skin and moving her hips, he does what he's been thinking about, fucking fantasizing about since the first time she crawled up in his lap, before that, even, and hating himself for ever since.

He fucks her slow with his fingers, pulling against the tightness of her body, and rubs up firm against her clit as he licks her, nipping gently at the underside of the swell of her breast. Shifting his own hips, the heavy weight of his cock is clear against her thigh as he groans breathily.

"God, Frank." It's hard for him to keep it to that, his self control stretched to the limit, but he manages.

Frank has to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle the noise that threatens to give them away, shoulders stretched back, body hot and wet around his fingers. She already feels ready to ask for more, for what she woke Gerard up for in the first place. But- but no, she's going to wait, until she knows for sure it's what she wants, what he wants. In the meantime, she surprises herself by asking, rough and whispered, "Can I touch your dick?"

Gerard can't help his laugh, shaky and uncertain. He nods, his voice a husky wreck as he whispers, "Yeah, yeah. Sure. Anything you want, Frank. Whatever you want, you can do it. He ducks his head to hide his face against her hair; there's not much of it there, but he still manages a pretty good job while Frank wrestles one-handed with his pants to get them open, to slip her fingers inside his shorts to graze against the head of his cock.

"Think you can get your pants off without anyone knowing? 'cept me?" Frank's words are stilted and jagged, caught on the hooks of gasped breath in time with the way Gerard's fingers move in her, or when he bites at her skin. But Frank manages a fumbling stroke, and another, firmer and a little more confident, before Gerard can pull away.

He sits up enough that he can stare wide-eyed down at her, his mouth twitching uncertainly as he nods and tries to smile. He rubs against her with his thumb, curling his fingers in her until she's lifting her hips to meet him, then grins and pulls his hand away, wiping his fingers on the thigh of his jeans. Far enough away that he can get his hands between them too, his thumbs brush the sides of her hand as he tucks them under the band of his underwear, easing them down his hips. Once they're on the tops of his thighs he just shoves them down, half-laying on the floor next to her so he can smile shyly and reach out to touch her cheek and then her breast again, his lips brushing warm against hers.

"There, there. See?"

Frank can't not see, even when it's dark-dim in the van; can't not see the heavy sway of Gerard's cock when he moves down beside her, blood-flushed skin pale against the dark scratch of hair between his hips. "Fuck," Frank whispers, shifting until she can get her hand around him more securely. She looks up into his face, unable to look down anymore, not when what she sees scares her. "You're beautiful," she says, breathy and trembled against the corner of Gerard's mouth, and the words that don't follow are I don't know who I am around you, anymore. I'm not me, but I'm more me than I've felt with anyone else.

"I'm-" Gerard loses the thread of his denial under the stroke of Frank's hand, the answering shiver of his hips that makes him take a deep, shaky breath.

He skates his hand down her side, fingers bumping over her ribs before he can get a firm hold on her waist. He tugs her body the slightest bit closer to his as he kisses her deeply, slow and intent, and only pulls away to groan against her mouth. His hips roll carefully up against the push of her hand, his eyes so heavy lidded that they're all but closed and his lips kiss swollen and slick. "God, I want you so much."

Why, why, fucking why does Gerard make her feel like this, all hot and unsteady, with his long kisses and long fingers, touching her like she's delicate and precious to him. There's no good reason for it, nothing Frank can rationalize in her mind, and she doesn't want to think about anything but him right now, when his breath is warm and soft against her cheek, face at once relaxed and intent under the stroke of her palm.

"You ready?"

Gerard starts to nod, only stopping as he jerks the slightest bit under the push and pull of her hand on him, making his toes tense and his breath catch, rubbing his palm gently against the small of her back. His hand very nearly spans from the curve of her side all the way across to the floor of the van. 

"Only 'f you are, Frank. Only if you want me to be." He licks his lips again, nervously, and tucks his nose against hers as he whispers.

"Yeah. I am." Frank smiles up at him, scared and brave all at once, and kisses his lips, once. Blinking slowly in the dark, like this could be some kind of dream, she adds, "I want you to be."

She pushes his hair back from his face, trying to reassure him when it feels like she's going to burst out laughing, or crying, or something girly and stupid, because she doesn't know what else to do. She hopes Gerard knows where the condom is, where he put it after she pressed it into his hand, because she's got no idea where it's gone from there.

"You're not gonna hurt me, Gerard. I promise." She flashes another smile in the dark and hooks one of her legs over Gerard's hip. "At least you kinda know what you're doing, right?"

It feels good to laugh, and Gerard does so quietly, up against the corner of Frank's mouth, as he presses into the grip of her hand and leans into her weight a little. "I have done this before, yeah. Do you, um. D'you want me to get, you know. Ready?"

Sliding his hand from her back he gropes around for the stiff plastic wrapper of the condom. Once he finds it he relaxes, a little, and lets her hear the crackle of the plastic as he shifts back, his eyes steady as he looks her questioningly in the eye, all over serious again.

"Yup." And while he does that, tears open the wrapper and rolls the condom on, Frank rolls onto her back, fingers pressing against her collarbone and under her breast where Gerard left bright marks on her skin. "I wanna know what it's like for you to be in me. I wanna know if it's everything you wanted it to be."

"I don't know if you know this," Gerard mumbles, pulling his hand away from himself with something like palpable effort. He props himself up on his elbow and trails his fingertips down the slight dent of her sternum as he smiles his crooked, almost-but-not-quite smile down at her. "But it's probably not gonna be all that different from, um. You know. Some of those things that you've done before. Just sweatier, probably. Sorry about that."

"But yours is attached." Frank mirrors the smile, so out of place on her face. "I've never done this. With a guy. With anyone else, before." She shivers under the feather of his fingertips, her skin breaking into momentary goosebumps and her nipples going hard and pert. "It's gonna be different. 'cause it's you." And she tugs him down against her, as always reassured by his warmth, his bulk, the smell of his skin and the flick of his hair. "And hi, does it look like I mind getting sweaty?"

Gerard can't help but laugh at that as he settles against her, careful of how much weight he rests against her, how her legs have to part to make room for his own. He looks at her carefully, his lips parted the slightest bit and his eyes wide as he traces the line of her nose with his fingertips. Finally he lets a little more of his weight shift to his knees from his chest and arms, trembling a little at the effort of holding himself up. He bites off a soft groan as his hips settle in the space between her thighs, his thumb pressing the slightest bit harder than he intends against her lower lip

"I just wanna make it good," he whispers.

"You will," Frank answers, hushed, before dragging her teeth against his thumb. She pulls a breath, slow and deep and cleansing, and hooks her leg around his waist. Frank's afraid of this, afraid of what it means, but she's not afraid of Gerard or how he's going to treat her. "C'mere, you big stupid." He's heavy, but he's not; it's sweet weight, intimate, somehow. It's easy to shut out the sound of the engine humming below them, the sound of Mikey snoring above them when she kisses Gerard, fists her hands in his hair, breathes against his mouth, smiling. "You gonna do this, or what?"

As tempting as it is, for a fleeting second, to take that as an invitation, Gerard can't bring himself to do more than kiss at her lips, sliding one of his hands under her neck as he braces his forearm against the carpet. He shifts until he can feel the heat of her skin through the thin latex, the pressure of her thigh tight against his hip as he bumps his nose against hers.

He whispers with a soft smile, "You gonna help me, or what?" They're more than a little overwhelmed by the intimacy of this, how it feels like it's just them in the entire universe, even though the guys are barely more than reaching distance away. For a moment, she's not even sure what he means, until he's right there, right up against her with mouth and body, and... that. And she reaches between them to hold that cautiously in her fingers, to guide him up against her.

"Like that?" Her fingers skate against his hip, thumb pushing at the hem of his shirt so Frank can doodle meaningless little symbols into his skin. "Are- are you scared?"

"Yeah, yeah, like that." Gerard's voice is soft as he shifts with her, digging his toes into the rough carpet for traction as he takes a deep breath and tucks his face against hers, closer than close, and admits in a soft, whispery sort of voice, "And not enough to stop."

Frank nods, kissing where Gerard's closest, his jaw, or his cheek, and shifts her hips up against his. And when he's right against her, at the point where it's little more than a nudge, a breath, a gasp, and they won't be separate anymore, Frank admits, low and relieved, "Me either." Frank presses of her leg against him, encouraging him as much as she can. Scared, yes, but still wanting it.

Gerard takes a deep breath, then another, before he presses a gentle, undemanding kiss to her lips and whispers as he arches his hips slightly, breath catching on the gasp that threatens to wrench from his throat at the tight heat against the tip of his cock, threatens to engulf him. He threads his hand through her hair, his palm warm and certain against the back of her neck. With a soft affirmation, barely more than a gasp against her lips, he slowly lets his weight push himself forward, in, and Jesus Christ, they're really doing this. It's real, it's happening, and it is so good.

Frank's breath catches in little gasps, eyes closed and lips parted against the corner of Gerard's mouth, and she holds him against her, all arms and legs and arch of her body against his, whispering high and tight, "I- I. You're." There isn't a way to describe how it feels; it's not as if she's never had anything in her before, but it's never been like this, careful and hot and sweet all at once. It's never been Gerard.

"Thank you," Frank whispers shakily, hiding her face against his. "This- this is." But there's no way to end that sentence properly, not when there aren't words to describe how it feels, what it means.

As much as he wants to, can feel the embarrassed laugh and self-deprecating words hot in his chest, Gerard can't make himself voice them. Not when Frank is all but trembling against him, her entire body clinging tight to him, arms and legs and- "God, Frank. You just- You feel." He coughs a little, at that, his knees pressed hard against the rough carpet and his forearms holding as much of his weight as he can. He does his best to kiss her gently, when all he wants to do is crawl into her and never leave, to move and push and- 

And he owes her better than that, to treat her as best as he knows how. He's gonna.

She doesn't even know how to kiss him back, when she's too busy trying to process how this feels, how it is, with him in her, above her, how it's good, so incredibly good, so much better than she thought it would be, and so fucking scary that it makes her want to cry against his shoulder. Frank pushes her elbow into the carpet beneath them, presses her heels against the backs of Gerard's hips, kisses light and breathy at his lips as she tips her hips up to meet him.

"Mmh, Gerard, Gee, I." There's something she needs to say, something, anything, to reassure him, to reassure herself, to let him know that everything he's done, everything he's going to do, is just fucking fine.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Gerard barely even whispers the words against her mouth as their hips meet, one of his hands coming away from the carpet to touch her side, the bump of her ribs and the warmth of her skin. He glances his thumb against the outside curve of her breast and shifts, a little, settling against and inside her as best he can. He hiccups a tiny little breath and glances his nose against hers, almost like he's embarrassed to do it, the shaky whisper of his voice soft. "I can't- I can't fuckin' believe you want me."

It hurts to talk, to try and form words, like there's a great, heavy block in her throat, and she hics out a tiny, clipped sound. "Why wouldn't I?" Frank whispers back, her lips moving just barely against his. "It feels-" But what does it feel like? It's different than Jamia, the softness of breasts and body, the way her mouth felt and her kisses tasted, and it's different everywhere else, too, that- that it's Gerard.

He has to lick his lips and take a deep breath before he can speak, tucking his lips against the point of her jaw. "'cause I'm me, Frank. P- Girls don't, you know. Don't usually go for me. Not- Definitely not girls as pretty as you." 

And the thing is that he means it, recently shorn pot dreads and baby fat and all, and it shows in his voice, the careful way he holds her, the stillness of his hips when he so clearly wants nothing more than to move. It's impossible even to laugh at that, when Gerard's rocking slowly against her. Frank arches her hips up under him, meaning to kiss at his mouth again and ending up somewhere near his chin instead.

"You feel," she tries again. She can't find the words, even as they're banging around in her head, can't squeeze them out past the lump in her throat.

Gerard’s just trying desperately to stay calm, to ignore the way he feels, all shaky and like his throat is too tight. He brushes against her earlobe as he pets at her side and hopes desperately that he's not saying the wrong thing, when he can still feel the hysterical, disbelieving laugh bubbling in his throat. 

"I just wanna be good enough, for you. 'cause you deserve better."

Better? Better than what? Better than Gerard, who's treated her nicer, better, than anyone? Even Jamia, who Frank loved with all her heart, had her moments where Frank wanted to throttle her in her sleep. But Gerard. Gerard's a boy. And Frank didn't know that he could be like this, could touch her and make her feel so good, aching and gasping in little torn breaths, in fear that they might turn to tears.

"I'm not, Gee." And still, the words burn in her throat, and she hides her face against his neck, moving slowly, hoping to encourage him to give her what she's asked for. If it's more than this.

And if this is all it is, all they have tonight, then- then that's fine, too. But it would take a far better man than Gerard to stay still when Frank moves like that, breathes out those soft sounds against his jaw. He hides his face against the side of her head as he shifts, his toes and knees sore against the rough carpet and his body tense, moving against her, in her, with a slow, careful motion of his spine and hips. It makes him wheeze, press his palm against her ribs as he licks his lips.

Gerard whispers, rough and soft, "'m still gonna try."

She tries to take a deep breath, but in doing that, Frank's legs tighten around Gerard's waist and she arches her back into his movements with a sharp sound. That’s when he’s struck with a tap to the top of his head.

It's Cortez, half-hiding his eyes. Frank's still got her face pressed to Gerard's neck, and doesn't know that anyone's even awake, let alone aware of what they're doing. Gerard manages to take a swipe at the side of Cortez's head without moving otherwise, flipping him off.

He brings his arm back down to pet at the back of Frank's head, holding it close where she won't see their audience of one, and ducks his head and kisses her temple.

"Shh, shh, babe. Keep it down until next time, yeah?" he mumbles soft under his breath. He hopes dimly that Mikey's still asleep, but honestly... It's not like he's never had to pretend to sleep through Mikey getting laid. It's only fair. He can bribe Cortez with beer for forgiveness later, as long as he doesn't fuck this up.

Until next time. She looks up into his face, the only thing she can see - the only thing she wants to see, in this moving blackness of van and road - and laughs, clipped and breathy. "Next time. Yeah. Fuck." At least she keeps it down enough that Cortez can only tell she's talking, not what she's saying. The low hum of her voice translates itself into more words in the shadow beneath Gerard's body: "Mmh- more, Gerard." The dart of her tongue to dampen her lips is tactile on his jaw, brief and damp, and she can taste the sweat on his skin. "'m not made of glass."

"I know you're not, Frank. I know." Gerard reassures her in a barely-there voice, touching her carefully, gently, as he finds his courage, finds a rhythm that has him gasping against her mouth in effort, his body unused to the exertion off of a stage. 

He's all too aware of where Matt is, how precarious their position is, and he tries to keep Frank quiet, to encourage her to express what she's feeling with lips and tongue rather than voice in the still air of the back of the van. It works; Frank wants to tell him how good it feels, but she's lost on the bow of his mouth, on the press of his tongue and the texture of his teeth, lost on the ebb and flow of their bodies, the back and forth of Gerard in her.

Gerard only breaks away to gasp, "You feel so fuckin' good,” as his hips stutter and he has to grimace to help keep himself in control. Before Frank realizes that it's happening, the pace they've found, careful and just-enough, it's suddenly not nearly enough. It leaves Frank pushing up under Gerard, meeting him at every thrust, her short nails digging into his shoulder blades, clinging to him like she's going to fall, like it's never going to stop.

Gerard slides a hand between their bodies, his fingers cold against the low of her stomach, just enough presence of mind left to kiss her as he gathers her up, his other hand flat between her shoulder blades and his elbow tense on the floor beside her. He presses his thumb against her clit, intent on making her come undone before the urgent heat slurring low in his belly conspires with the burn of his muscles to make him completely useless. Her mouth is lush and damp on his skin, teeth and tongue taking what they want from Gerard's jaw as she rocks against him, on his cock and against his hand. "Fuck, fuck."

He wants to feel her, wishes briefly that he could hear- But there'll be time enough for that, when they're not in the back of the van, close enough to the rest of the guys that he doesn't even want to think about what they'll have to say in the morning. She still has no idea that Cortez is behind her, trying to get Gerard's attention, to at least motion for him to shut Frank the fuck up before Otter figures out she's not by herself in the back of the van, that it's not just Frank getting herself off.

She stifles her sound into the heel of her hand, face contracted in pleasure as he presses at her, drags his thumb against her clit, and suddenly Frank's pushing at Gerard, trying to get him to lean back so she can be on his lap, instead. Despite Gerard's staggering lack of suitedness for this kind of conjugal acrobatics he still manages to get his knees braced and his weight centered as Frank all but throws herself at him. He bangs his head against the back door and says a fleeting prayer of thanks in his head for the speed at which their merch has been selling, that it wasn't a box that interrupted his backward progress instead.

He can still see Cortez over the top of Frank's head, and he glares as best he can. Ducking his head to catch her lips with his, Gerard muffles her as effectively as he knows how, grunting with the effort of lifting both their weight. He clutches at her breast with one hand and rubs more firmly against her with his other, kicks with his hips, his tongue mirroring the motion, and tries desperately to do whatever it is that he has to, to push her over the edge. "Mmh."

Cortez isn't watching for the sake of watching, because, ew, Gerard and Frank, his friends, ew-ew-ew. But he's awake, and someone ought to be playing watchman between Otter, who's tapping some rhythm on the steering wheel to match the hum of the radio, and the two in the back of the van. He looks away when Frank jerks Gerard's hand away to grasp her hip instead of pressing at her, the ride of her body on his stopping as she arches back, lip caught between her teeth, hands tight on Gerard's shoulders, tight enough that her nails, short and chipped-black, scrape into his skin. 

Gerard can feel it through her whole body, the way she shudders against him, shivers around him, see it on the tight expression on her face and the way tears stand in the sleepless hollows below her eyes, hear it in the sucked, sobbed breath that replaces the way she'd cry out. He’s sure Cortez is watching them, and it’s deeply, deeply strange, but he can’t take his eyes off Frank to look as she quakes, panting open-mouthed through it. Collecting her up in his arms he bears her back down against the carpet again, intent on making her comfortable, keeping her quiet as well as happy but also finding his own pleasure, that sometimes needs chasing after.

He could do anything he wants to Frank at this point, so long as he just doesn't leave her alone. She hugs him close, whispering against his lips, little words that don't sound like anything distinct, just encouraging, interspersed with quiet sounds and broken obscenities. Show me you want me, show me I can get you there-

"Shh," he whispers, pushing his hand over the short slick of her hair, his lips warm against the corner of her mouth as he grinds against her and wheezes in a deep breath, bracing his hands on the floor for leverage to thrust.

The noise builds, and in front of them Cortez stares fixedly out the window. He tries to ignore the sounds that make him blush, if only for the fact that Gerard probably thinks he's a dirty fuckin' pervert, tries to grant them some privacy. This has gotta be something big between them, for Frank to let Gerard do- do that with her. He keeps an ear out for Otter.

After only a little while - a minute, maybe two - Gerard's breath c-catches, breaks, and he loses himself in Frank, against her lips. He holds her close and presses their faces together, completely forgetting or maybe just ignoring to an all-encompassing degree the world outside of the two of them. Frank's eyes fly wide, processing the feel of him in her, of him coming, and she hugs Gerard with everything she's got, her body shivering in the echo of his pleasure. "Gerard," Frank whispers, helplessly. "Gerard."

Once everything’s gone silent Cortez lets himself balance against Mikey again, shut his eyes. He hopes that he'll maybe sleep with some fucking peace now that Gerard and Frank are done with Frank's little experiment. He's still giving Gerard the big giant fistpump of 'SCORE!' in his head. Maybe things'll work out, maybe it won't be weird. Maybe they'll get a call tomorrow saying that they're going to headline Madison Square Garden.

Gerard starts to go still, heavy and sated against her body, when he remembers the condom and pulls out with a grimace and a rueful grumble. He holds it carefully on until their bodies come apart and he can deal with the condom properly, or at the very least throw it in the direction of the back door, figuring that no one but him is likely to open it next anyway. He knows he needs to put on pants, would honestly feel a good deal better about the world in general if he were wearing some. At the moment, though, all he wants to do is pull Frank into his arms again and breathe in the smell of her skin, so that's what he does, panting softly against her cheek.

"God,"he murmurs, his voice small and awed.

Now that it's over, that it's happened, Frank tucks herself against him, pressing her face to the join of his neck and shoulder, and each blink of her eyes leaves his skin damp. Everything's changed, she can't help but think, more than a little miserably. Nothing is the same, everything's different, more dangerous, maybe. More on the line, for her most definitely, and maybe- And maybe for him, too. She hopes he'd think of it that way, when she's still wrapped around him, feeling achy and just the slightest bit sore.

"I'm sorry," she hiccups, tangling her fingers in Gerard's hair. "I don't know why. It's not you, I promise. I don't know what it is." It's only her entire world, everything she's ever been and known, flipped upside-down. That's all. No biggie. She tries to lose herself in him, tucking her face wetly against his neck and hiding against his warmth, and he lets her, for a little while.

"Shh," Gerard half-wheezes, palming down the fine musculature and knobby bone of her back to pull her in, his weight settled onto his hip and elbow so he can hold her close. He just breathes for a long moment, then another, feeling her body shift and relax against his, before he finally mumbles against the side of her nose, apologetic and hushed, "We should get dressed. 'fore we crash out. So, you know. No one gets blinded or scarred for life, in the morning."

She agrees with a sniffle and a tip of her chin, ducking out of his embrace to find a boy's undershirt and a pair of panties as he twists awkwardly to find where his underwear have gone. She yanks them on, huddling herself back up in the warm spot that lingers against the carpet, and waits for Gerard. Just as soon as his pants are up and buttoned, his belt abandoned as a lost cause, he eels back up into place against her, tactfully ignoring the way Frank heels angrily at her eyes.

He feels stupid, a little helpless, that she's upset and he doesn't know what to do, but at the same time he can't fight his feeling of deep satisfaction, for all that he's sweaty and, okay, pretty disgusting, even for him, and he has no idea what will happen next. She isn't any better, feeling stupid for crying, or whatever it is that she's doing, weeping like some regency heroine that's lost her favourite dress, or some shit. Whatever. She's totally just hungover, or something. There's probably dust in the back of the van, and it totally just pillaged the fuck out of her eyes.

"You an' me, breakfast. 'n th' mornin'," Frank mutters, her lips soft against the stubble that she hadn't noticed before now, scraping along the soft of his jaw.

"Your treat."


End file.
